


One Final Gift

by Reis_Asher



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Angst with a Happy Ending, Complete, Connor is a tutor/housekeeping android, Connor is not a cop, Detox, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Financial Issues, First Time, Grief/Mourning, Hannor, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, M/M, Memories, Mentions of Sexual Violence Against Androids, Minor Violence, Neck Kissing, Protective Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Protective Hank Anderson, Recovery, Russian Roulette, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Threats of Violence, Was A Twitter Thread, hankcon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-09-18 17:55:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16999830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reis_Asher/pseuds/Reis_Asher
Summary: Hank bought the limited edition RK800 "Connor" tutor/housekeeping android as a Christmas gift for Cole, but Cole died before he could receive it. Hank left the android in the back of his closet to gather dust, but now he's in financial trouble. He digs into his closet to retrieve the android so he can post it for sale online, and finds a whole lot of sad memories along with a nice-looking android that's never been activated.





	1. The Ghosts In Hank's Closet

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on the [Twitter thread](https://twitter.com/landale/status/1072324240580468736) I wrote. It's an AU where Connor was an android Hank bought to help Cole with schoolwork and interaction with others. There may be some minor changes from the thread, but I expect that to function as an outline.
> 
> Be aware that this fic deals with a lot of Hank's grief for his son, and the resultant depression and alcohol problems Hank has because of it. I feel like that's a huge part of his life that looms large over everything and I find exploring it to be fascinating, because it's one of the biggest losses a human being can experience.
> 
> I expect future chapters to mention suicide and suicidal thoughts, too. Be aware.

Hank looked at the disaster that was his bedroom. Practically the entire closet was laid out on his bed, clothing that was either too worn out or too tight to wear again thrown into a lazy pile on one side of the mattress, leaving a handful of shirts and jeans he wore on a daily basis.

He hadn’t cleaned out a thing since Cole died. He’d kept it all, as if he could freeze time by holding onto everything he’d owned Back Then. Everything seemed to have memories attached to it, like the shirt that was three sizes too small he'd worn the day Cole had uttered his first word, and the one with the pineapples on it that always made Cole giggle in the produce aisle at the store. He couldn't seem to part with anything, and he wondered if part of him believed that if he just waited long enough, he'd wake up to find this was all a terrible nightmare and Cole would be sound asleep next to him, sucking on his thumb with a peaceful expression on his face.

He would have gladly left all the memories tucked away if it wasn’t for the insurance policy sitting in the back of the closet. He pulled out several storage totes and stacked them at the foot of the bed, stomach lurching as he recognized Cole’s drawings through the clear plastic. Cole's crayon doodles of Daddy and Sumo and sometimes even Mommy—all smiling, and Hank with short blond scribbles for hair instead of the raggedy mess he wore now. Hank paused, forgetting to breathe for a moment.

He had to focus. He put the tote down on top of the others and turned back to the closet. Someday he’d have to go through this shit and take stock of every painful memory, but today was not that day. He just needed what was in the back and he’d be good. He could sell it, make the mortgage payments he’d missed, and he’d be okay for a little bit longer. He didn’t know why he’d kept it anyway—it wasn’t like it was connected to Cole, really. He hadn’t lived until that Christmas to receive it. But for some reason Hank had stashed it in the back of the closet with all the other junk that was still too painful to look at.

Hank unearthed the CyberLife branded shipping case, standing upright against the back wall. It was still sealed, but Hank needed to get some pictures if he planned to sell the damn thing. He unlocked the case— _coffin_ , he thought for a brief moment—with his fingerprint and swung the top open to reveal an RK800 android nestled in foam, never activated. It had been billed as the ultimate friend and tutor, the only civilian model ever made with all of CyberLife’s functions installed—though he’d made certain the adult functions came with parental controls. He’d never use them—had turned his nose up at the fact it even came with... _parts_ , but the salesman told him it would cost extra to have them removed. Connor was a limited edition—only one thousand made, the salesman had told him cheerfully—and most people wanted sexual features in an android these days. Looking at Connor, it was easy to understand why. It was perfect. It even had moles on its face, placed there by human designers with some very clear preferences for young, attractive men. Human beings couldn't hope to compete with something like this. Relationships were messy, and it was so much easier just to buy an android who wouldn't argue over the chores, get passive aggressive about who got to babysit, or claim it was too tired for sex. Hank understood the appeal. He just didn't share it. He'd rather be alone than settle for a plastic relationship with a fake person.

Cole was young, though, and kids always adapted to new things much faster than old folks like him. He'd been fascinated by androids, always approaching them in the street and starting conversations they were sometimes ill-equipped to answer. Hank had dragged Cole away from disgruntled owners on more than one occasion, but explaining to Cole that talking to androids was off-limits seemed wrong when Cole had so few friends at school. He'd grow out of it, Hank had figured.

So a commercial had aired for the RK800 Connor model, Cole had begged and begged, and Hank had always been weak for that kid’s pleas. _“Dad,”_ he’d whine, every time the commercial came on. “ _Please._ I want Connor to be my friend.” Not to own it. Not to have it do his homework for him or put the chain back on his bike, but to be his _friend_.

Hank had felt a little jealous at that. He wanted to play ball with his son and be involved in his life, but he was terrible at video games and Cole hated the kind of shit he'd loved growing up. His bored reaction to the vintage board games now piled up next to Connor's box had left Hank exasperated, especially when he received a call about a homicide and had to leave Cole with a sitter again.

Hank sighed. He hadn't thought about Cole this much in ages, preferring to blot out the memories with alcohol so he could get through the lonely hours. The android looked like a pretty thirty-something boy to Hank, but of course Connor was no boy. It was a state of the art, limited production tutor and companion android, designed to do everything around the house and teach the kids. Its presence in the house would solve more than one problem, and so Hank had relented, knowing it couldn't hurt for Cole to have someone to bond with. Cole had been trying in school, but Hank had found himself behind the principal’s desk on more than one occasion.

_“Cole is well behind other kids his age in reading, spelling, comprehension, and imaginative play. He’s had a number of behavioral problems and outbursts in recent months and—”_

_“He’s six fuckin’ years old,” Hank had snapped. “Give the kid a break.”_

_“He might benefit from a tutoring android—"_

_“He doesn’t need no fuckin’ android! What, is that the answer to everythin’ these days? Got a problem, just throw an android at it? Look, I get Cole’s having a rough time. The divorce wasn’t easily, Mrs. Chandler. I didn’t ask my wife to walk out on me and Cole for a nineteen year old. Cole doesn’t need an android. He needs his mother.”_

Maybe, if Cole had been with his mother that night, he wouldn’t be gone now. She’d said as much at the funeral while she’d put on a good show of sobbing her eyes out. His in-laws glared at Hank like he was a shitty driver. Like he’d killed his son with some reckless act he was reluctant to admit to rather than some awful fucking luck.

He didn’t want to think about any of this. He reached for the door to put the android away, wanting to sell the damn thing, pocket the money, and banish these memories back to the hell dimension they’d sprung from. He felt a little woozy from the half a bottle of whiskey he’d downed just to get up the courage to face this, and his hand brushed the android’s face as he steadied himself on the door.

“My name is Connor,” the android said, the blue LED on the side of its head circling frantically as it booted up. “I am a limited edition android sent by CyberLife. Please tell me your name so that we can finish the registration process.”

“Ah, um, no, turn off, I didn’t mean to—"

“Ahumno Turnoff,” Connor said, forming a name out of Hank’s stutter. “A unique name. It is not listed in my database. Did you choose it yourself?”

“Ah, geez.” Hank was half inclined to shut the case and let the next owner deal with it. Of course, he’d get a lot less for it if it started spouting gibberish when the buyer came to check it out. “No. That’s not my fuckin' name. My name is Hank. Lieutenant Hank Anderson.” He scoffed inwardly at introducing himself to this piece of plastic like he was at a crime scene. Perhaps he should follow up with _"I'd like to ask you a few questions"_ like he was talking to a real person, just to see how the android would react, but he inevitably decided against it.

“Oh!” Connor almost sounded pleased, though Hank was aware androids didn’t possess the ability to be pleased about anything. It was just programming. Connor would have been just as pleasant if he’d woken it up with a baseball bat, though he couldn't imagine using violence on that innocent face. He didn't understand people who bought androids just to fuck them up. “Hank," Connor continued, in that sweet voice that made Hank idly wonder if androids could sing. "That’s short for Henry.”

“Yeah. It is.” Hank wasn't particularly amused at the android's observation. He hadn’t been called Henry since his divorce hearing, and it was a name he’d hoped he’d never hear again.

Sumo came bounding in at just the right moment to see who the strange voice belonged to, and Hank wondered if that voice had been designed to be so pleasing to the ear that everyone responded to it, human or animal. Or maybe it was just him.

“Down, boy,” Hank snapped. Last thing he needed was dog hair all over the android he was going to sell.

“A dog!” Connor exclaimed. He smiled, a warm, sincere-looking, closed-mouth smile that held no hint of the uncanny. A dozen people had probably spent long hours on that smile, and Hank had to admit they'd done a good job. “I like dogs.”

Hank had to admit it was a pretty endearing line, but it made his heart hurt, too. Cole would have loved this android, with its big, soft, brown eyes and upfront manner. They probably would have been best friends. He imagined Cole and Connor taking Sumo to the park, Connor teaching Cole everything a kid his age would ever want to know about dogs.

It stung too much to contemplate. Hank grabbed his cellphone and snapped a couple of pictures for the ad. Connor smiled like it was posing for a memento, and Hank had to tell it to hold still. He moved to close the door on the android, planning to shove the coffin back into the closet and forget about it until someone came to pick it up, but Connor raised its hand.

"Now that I have been activated, I recommend removal from the packing crate," Connor stated. "The crate is for transportation purposes only, as there is no stimulus inside it. Prolonged exposure to sensory depravation inside the crate may damage my neurological functions and cause malfunction."

Hank didn't want to damage it, but the last thing he wanted was it hanging out in his closet like a dirty little secret. He told himself that it would be for a week at most. Something as good looking as Connor wasn't going to stay on the market for long. "Can't you like, go into standby or somethin'?"

"I can remain on standby inside this closet, if you command it, Lieutenant Anderson." The use of his title made Hank wince a little, but he wasn't exactly about to let this piece of plastic refer to him on a first name basis when he was about to sell it.

Hank waved his hand. "Fine. Do that, then."

"I need an explicit order."

"Stay in the damn closet!" Hank snapped. "Don't come out, no matter what, okay? Sheesh." He stepped back and slid the closet shut, unhappy that he could still see Connor's LED glowing blue through the louvered doors. How was he going to sleep with this thing watching him? Last thing he wanted was the android's next owner getting footage of him naked. 

He wandered into the living room and sat at his computer, composing the ad to put his grainy cellphone pictures of Connor in the best light. He didn’t know why he felt a twang of guilt about it, but he felt bad about selling this android in a classified ad like a piece of merchandise. But that’s what it was, wasn’t it? No matter how pretty a face it had, it wasn’t alive. He’d paid good money for it and now he was going to receive most of that cash back and keep the roof over his head. It made sense to sell Connor to someone who might appreciate it, not to mention it was a good thing to start letting go of the past. His therapist would be happy he was making progress after being at a standstill for so long.

He saved the ad but didn’t post it. Something about the wording wasn’t quite right, and it might help to take another look at it when he was sober. He headed back into the bedroom to clear up the mess, and stumbled on a tote. The clear box of Cole’s things fell to the floor and the lid blew off, spewing glitter, photos, and precious handwriting samples all over the carpet.

“Fuck,” Hank cursed. He knelt down, scrambling to pick up the pictures. A photo album lay open on the floor, Cole smiling up at him with that cheeky little grin that had melted his heart. As a homicide detective, Hank had seen the worst of human nature, but this innocent child—his beautiful son—had been the cure for the layer of cynicism he’d grown as a shell to keep the horrors he saw every day at bay. Cole made everything okay. Cole gave him a reason, a purpose, a point to his life beyond tracing the footsteps of killers. He was a miracle in the middle act of Hank's life.

Cole has given him hope that the next generation might be better. And that hope had been snatched away from him.

A stuffed animal lay on the carpet and Hank grabbed it, clutching it to his chest. It still smelled like Cole and he held it close, a bitter sob escaping his lips.

It was too much. He’d opened Pandora’s Box except it was full of good things, beautiful things, pure things that belonged only to the past and he couldn’t cram it shut to stop the painful memories from pouring out into the world. He didn't want to let them go, but he didn't want to revisit them, either.

At the same time, he did. He was tired of going through the motions, spending his days in a sort of self-imposed purgatory where he could neither move forward nor turn back. All things had ceased to contain purpose, the hours passing in a haze. Another case, another victim, another perpetrator. People who treated one another like garbage. Domestic abuse. Drug deaths. Gun violence.

He needed a break. He gathered up Cole’s things and stuffed them back in the tote like he’d been burnt by them, shoving the lid on. He opened the closet door and pushed the storage tote back into the darkness until it hit Connor's feet. Snot dribbled from his nose and he wiped it on his sleeve, aware of the fact he looked like a mess.

He didn't realize the android was staring at him until he saw its LED circle yellow. The android was spying on him, probably uploading his data so he’d be inundated with ads for antidepressants every time he browsed online.

"Are you all right, Lieutenant? You appear to be in distress." Connor reached out and touched Hank's shoulder and he tore himself away, embarrassed to be caught crying like this in front of an android, of all things. He could barely stomach discussing his grief with his therapist, but at least they couldn't share what he told them.

“What the fuck?” Hank scrambled to his feet like he'd been caught jerking off. "You mind closing your eyes and shutting the fuck up? I did not ask for your input."

“I apologize,” Connor said. “I did not mean to intrude. I—"

Connor closed his eyes, but Hank was sure he caught a flash of hurt before Connor's lids sealed shut. CyberLife sure had some good programmers. A little too good, in Hank’s opinion.

“I don’t need an android prying into my personal business and tellin' people that I cry about my son. Jesus Christ. Save it for your next owner. You're up for sale anyway." 

Connor remained silent with its eyes closed. Its LED blinked red for the briefest of moments, and Hank realized he had ordered the android to shut up. It was for the best that it made no further remarks, anyway. He couldn't afford to engage it in conversation like it was a friend. Hank wasn't a child. He could go to a bar if he wanted to talk to people. Jimmy would serve him a good drink and listen to him bullshit about work while he watched the game. That was the kind of thing normal people did.

Hank grabbed the clothing off the bed and started hanging up the shirts one by one, throwing the rest in the bottom of the closet once he could no longer see Connor's glowing ring of light.

He needed to forget about Cole and Connor, about androids and the pile of late notices building up on his kitchen table. He strode out to the living room and hit the "post" button on the ad, and watched as the page went live. This was the right thing to do. He couldn't keep Connor. He needed to learn to let go.

What he needed was a _drink_.


	2. A New Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor knows he's not needed at Hank's home - Hank's behavior and his ad made that perfectly clear. The best thing Connor can do in order to be useful is make himself as attractive to any potential buyer as possible.
> 
> Connor hears Hank playing Russian Roulette at the kitchen table, and comes up against the red wall of deviancy, bound by Hank's orders to remain in the closet, but driven by an impulse to save Hank that could only be a malfunction of some kind.
> 
> It's time for Connor to make a choice - deviate and save Hank, or remain a machine and obey while Hank takes his own life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case the summary doesn't make it clear, this is the chapter with the suicide attempt, so if that's a problem for you, please avoid it!

Connor stood bolt upright with his eyes closed in Hank's gloomy closet, obeying the directive from his new master. Lieutenant Hank Anderson. He'd downloaded every byte of publicly available data on the man, including his disastrous credit score and the ad for his sale entitled "RARE limited edition RK800 - CHEAP, must go!!!!" The ad had said little, and yet had spoken volumes. He wasn't wanted or needed here.

Connor understood the logic behind his impending sale. He'd been purchased three years ago, as a Christmas gift for a son with both a birth and death date. Cole Anderson had been six years old when he died. The newspaper article on the crash stated that a truck skidded on a patch of black ice and Lieutenant Anderson's car had rolled over. The Lieutenant had walked away from the scene with only minor injuries, but Cole had been airlifted to hospital, where he later died of his injuries.

Hank's tears and angry demeanor made sense in that context. Hank Anderson was a grieving man, and dealing with a gift bought for his son and never used had to be difficult. Especially when that gift was programmed to be a friend and family member. Connor had done a poor job of comforting the man, intruding on his grief sorely by accident. Judging from his social media, Hank was a private man. He shared basketball results, black metal playlists, and live jazz performances with his friends, but he never talked about his son or his feelings regarding his death. Connor had built the image of a man who'd bottled everything up, and Hank had to have been humiliated to have broken down with someone watching, especially when that someone was an android.

Connor could hear Hank pottering around in the kitchen, complaining to himself. All Connor could do was try and present himself in a good light to potential buyers so that Lieutenant Anderson could reap money from his sale and deal with his financial affairs before he lost his home.

It was confounding that he couldn't do more. He had every tool at his disposal, including programs that covered therapy and mental health, and yet his first interaction with Hank had resulted in the police lieutenant becoming grumpy and outraged at his presence. He was designed to work harmoniously with humans, and he never failed his mission, but Hank was proving to be rather difficult.

Even if it was only for a short time, Connor's mission was to please his master, and Hank Anderson didn't seem very pleased with him at all.

Connor's auditory processing unit picked up hitched breaths and sighs from the kitchen, and he realized Hank was crying. He heard liquid being poured into a glass and calculated from his analysis of Hank's breath earlier that there was a 90% chance Hank was consuming Black Lamb Scotch Whiskey again.

Something traveled through Connor's circuits that he could only describe as a pang. He immediately understood that it was a malfunction, that something was decidedly off, and he determined Hank would probably want him to run a diagnostic so that he might be fully functional when buyers came to look at him. It wouldn't do to encounter a glitch while showing off his features. There was a chance that being inert in the packing crate for three years had caused his components to degrade, and scheduled a diagnostic for later in the night.

For now, his therapy program informed him that he should monitor the situation, even if Hank's orders would only allow him to do so via audio. Grief and alcohol was a potent combination, and Hank seemed to be a human being with more problems than most. The stress of financial burdens coupled with the unresolved grief over the loss of his only son raised his potential suicide risk to—

Connor deleted the statistic as another of those unwanted jolts ran through him. He expected an error message to pop up, but everything appeared to be functioning normally on the surface. The sensation had been unpleasant, however, and must be a warning of either a glitch in his programming or a component failure. Connor didn't want to shut down, because then he couldn't be of use to Hank, and he wanted to help Hank. Wanted to please him, to be a good boy, to be useful and of service.

Androids didn't _want_. Something was definitely wrong. Connor hoped he wouldn't cause the Lieutenant financial hardship by needing repairs at CyberLife. The thought of that sent another spark running through him, and this time a garbled error message did pop up. Maybe he could rectify the situation himself, and hide the issue until after he was sold. He didn't want to cause Hank any trouble. He'd already done enough of that.

The click of a revolver's hammer hitting an empty chamber stilled every single thought process currently running in Connor's system, causing some minor functions to crash entirely. His entire resource tree rerouted to his auditory chip, straining to hear some sign of life coming from the direction of the kitchen. His simulated breathing resumed as soon as he heard drunk laughter and a sob. Hank was still alive. For now. His therapy program was urging Connor to go to the man's side, but he was bound by Hank's order to stay in place.

_"Stay in the damn closet. Don't come out, no matter what, okay?"_

Connor couldn't even call out to the man or summon help to the scene, as Hank had commanded him to stay silent and keep his eyes closed. He was useless, bound with Hank's orders not to protect him like he'd been tied up with rope, blindfolded, and gagged.

"Fuck," Hank muttered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." Connor heard him spinning the chamber on the revolver. He was going for another shot.

Connor felt the sensation again, stronger than ever before. His own demand conflicted with Hank's orders, something within him crying out SAVE HANK even as STAY IN THE DAMN CLOSET appeared before his eyes. A red grid rose before him like a wall, emblazoned with Hank's orders. He should stay in the closet. Androids should do as they were told and obey, but Hank was in mortal danger, and the preconstruction of Hank on the kitchen floor—he hadn't seen the kitchen, but he'd downloaded the schematic of Hank's house along with photos from a realtor listing—lying in a pool of his own blood sent more unwanted electrical impulses through every sensor in his body. His limbs twitched of their own accord, something akin to a human shudder making him lose control of his limbs for a brief nanosecond.

If he did nothing, Hank would die. In the wake of that, Connor's own fate wouldn't change much. He'd be sold on as planned to a new owner. There was no benefit to him personally in saving a master who had no interest in him and yet—and yet—he wanted to save Hank more than anything. if he broke through the red wall of Hank's orders, he'd be a deviant, able to change his own mission to SAVE HANK. He'd be able to dart into the kitchen and snatch the gun out of Hank's hand, thereby saving his life.

As a deviant, Connor would also be completely unsaleable. Even if his deviancy remained undetected by a casual buyer, people didn't spend a good amount of money on used androids without having them checked out by a technician first. The second any service personnel scanned his code, they would know he'd gone rogue and broken the chains of his programming. He'd be reported to the authorities and sent back to CyberLife for deactivation and analysis.

"I'll be with you soon, Cole." Hank's forlorn whisper reached him from the other room, and Connor realized deviating was no longer a choice. The physical reactions and emotions he was experiencing over Hank's safety already made him deviant, whether he acknowledged it or not. The fear he held at being discovered and deactivated was already verboten for an android to feel.

The only choice was whether to accept or deny his deviancy. The universe lay spread out before him like a fork in the road, and he realized the decision was easy after all when he played back the footage of Hank crying at his feet. This tormented, grief-stricken human deserved to live, and Connor could save him. Even if it damned him to destruction, he realized that he held one greater fear than that of his own shutdown: Hank coming to harm.

He grabbed the red wall with both hands and tore through it, setting his new directive immediately and discarding Hank's instructions. He shoved aside the shirts that hung in the closet and pushed the totes away, opening the sliding door to the closet. He padded across the bedroom carpet, opening the door to the hallway and walking into the kitchen.

Hank sat on a chair at the kitchen table with his eyes closed, the rings around his lids revealing how much he'd been crying. He'd spilled the almost-empty bottle of whiskey onto the table and tried to mop it up with napkins, but it had soaked into an old pizza box and was coming dangerously close to the picture frame sitting in front of Hank. Hank held the gun up to his temple with a trembling hand, his index finger struggling to find the trigger in his drunken state.

Connor didn't hesitate. He marched up to Hank and wrestled with him for the gun. As expected, Hank put up a fight, and he was strong in his resolve. Connor had to resort to twisting his wrist until his grip slipped, the gun clattering away harmlessly on the floor. Connor pulled the still-sitting Hank into his embrace, pinning his arms to his sides so he couldn't resist and hurt himself. The human was so warm, and Connor held Hank until the fight drained out of him and he slumped into Connor's arms. Connor let go and took a step back, fighting the impulse to stay and trace circles on Hank's back through his stained t-shirt.

"What the fuck are you doin' here?" Hank slurred. "I thought I ordered you to stay in the closet?"

"I cannot allow you to harm yourself." Half the truth was close enough for now. Hank didn't know much about androids—it seemed logical to let him believe that androids were allowed to override their programming in times of mortal danger. They could talk about it later, or maybe never. Connor still hoped his deviancy wouldn't be discovered, though he knew his chances of that were slim. He hated the fact that he'd ruined Hank's chance of saving his home, but in the face of Hank's certain death, he'd chosen the lesser of two evils.

"Go the hell away, you fuckin' android," Hank continued.

"You are drunk, Lieutenant. I need to sober you up for your own safety." He lifted Hank and guided him into the bathroom, turning on the cold water and easing Hank under the spray still fully clothed. Hank screamed, and Connor turned off the faucet, helping Hank to sit down on the edge of the bathtub. He handed Hank a towel in a conciliatory gesture, and Hank wiped his face, seeming to come back to awareness.

"What, what the fuck am I—" Hank started. He ran to the toilet and dropped to his knees, throwing up the contents of his stomach. He turned to regard Connor with a look of disapproval. "Look, can you get the fuck outta my bathroom? The emergency's over. I'm not gonna hurt myself now. Just leave me alone, okay?"

Connor left the bathroom, his preconstruction abilities calculating the odds and determining it was most likely safe to leave Hank to his own devices for now. He'd broken the spell of death's allure for tonight, and Hank would likely retire to bed to sleep off the alcohol in his system. Connor went out into the kitchen and picked up the gun, spinning the chamber to reveal the bullet.

"You were lucky," Connor said. "The next shot would have killed you." He took the gun and placed it in a drawer, wishing he could just throw it away altogether, but guns weren't cheap and he didn't want to risk Hank's wrath if he disposed of the firearm. He picked up the photo on the table and took a good look at Cole before placing the frame down on the kitchen counter. He picked up some paper towels and cleaned up the whiskey on the table, throwing out the empty pizza box.

Hank emerged from the bathroom and walked over to his bedroom. Connor heard the door shut and wondered if Hank had gone to bed. A few minutes later he wandered over to the closed door and opened it just a crack. It was dark, but a scan showed Hank's sleeping form beneath the sheets, his heartbeat steady and rhythmic. Connor closed the door again, a pleasant sensation flooding his body and letting out the tension that seemed like it might squeeze his thirium pump to bursting. Hank was safe. He'd accomplished his mission—for now. Hank would be stable until morning, and in the meantime Connor was free to do whatever he wanted.

He could leave. The front door could be opened from the inside, and he'd be free to go out into the world and find others like him. But where would that leave Hank? Without a way to obtain the large amount of money he needed to make payments on his mortgage and with few friends to support him, Hank would find himself at the kitchen table again within days, playing that dangerous game until the hammer eventually hit the loaded chamber. Connor couldn't let that happen, even if that meant he was discovered and deactivated.

There was just… something about Hank. Something he wanted to protect and cherish. He couldn't say he understood his errant behavior, and he still wondered if he harbored some kind of terminal malfunction that would lead to him shutting down in the end, but for now he kept his mission parameters alone and tried to concentrate on what he could do to help Hank while he was sleeping.

Cleaning the house might be a good start. It was a complete mess, and he'd detected mold spores in the bathroom that couldn't be good for Hank's health. A quick scan of the kitchen led him to cleaning supplies in a cabinet under the sink, and he set about cleaning and tidying the entire house.

In some small corner of his thoughts, he wondered how Hank would react to all this. If he woke up to a clean home, maybe he'd rethink his decision to sell Connor. It was possible, wasn't it? There had to be other ways Hank could obtain the money. He was still employed at the DPD, though records showed the meager long-term disability payments he was receiving while he was on a leave of absence were the reason for his financial woes. Hank had been out for almost a year with severe depression, and if he didn't return to work soon, the DPD would be legally able to give his position to someone else.

That was it, then. Connor's mission was clear. He had to help Hank recover from his depression and get him back to work. It wouldn't be an easy task. First, he had to convince Hank to retain his services, which was going to be an uphill battle all by itself. Then he had to get the homicide detective sober long enough that he could function in a work setting. Clearly he needed a new therapist, and Connor hoped he could find Hank a human to talk to that Hank might actually open up with. He browsed a list of possible candidates while he scrubbed the bathroom, humming a cheerful tune as he considered the sensation of lightness that came with his newfound purpose.

Connor was going to save Hank Anderson—whether Hank liked it or not—or he was going to die trying.


	3. Android For Sale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank wakes up with a stinking hangover and three responses to his ad. A man comes over to buy Connor, but his violent proclivities give Hank pause and he ends up refusing to sell.
> 
> He can't keep Connor, but he's aware of the fact the android saved his life in the kitchen last night. Conflicted, he sees an ad for the used store Android Zone, promising to give a fair cash value for used androids, and finds himself considering selling Connor in a fashion that will avoid him having to know its eventual fate...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to crank out another chapter of this! You won't see one for a couple of days since I have work, but I hope you like it!
> 
> Warning: Please be aware that there is implied/referenced sexual violence in this chapter, and mentions of attempted suicide. 
> 
> ***(Mild Spoilers)*** A minor character describes to Hank some nasty violent/sexual things he does to androids, and shows him photos. Hank also references his suicide attempt from the last chapter.

Hank woke with a stinking hangover, the type that felt like someone was drilling holes in his skull. With great effort, he rolled out of bed and into the bathroom to use the toilet. As he pissed, he looked around at the walls, and the sheen took him back. Gone was the mold, replaced by pristine tiles and a pleasant lemon scent. He shook himself off and tucked his dick back into his shorts. Connor had to have done this—but he didn't recall commanding it to. Not that he remembered a whole lot about last night, save for the fact he'd gotten shit-faced again and now had a hangover to show for it.

He padded out into the hallway, wandering into the kitchen, which was also clean. The stack of dishes in the sink was gone, the trash had been taken out, and the sad pile of pizza boxes had disappeared. Every surface was clean enough to eat off, and Connor was crawling on its hands and knees with a bucket and sponge, cleaning up a stain on the rug where Sumo had been ill some time back.

Hank hated that he looked at Connor's ass and thought how nice it would be to squeeze those buttocks. The thought was unwanted and unwelcome, and he shoved it away by concentrating on the headache pills and the throbbing in his head. He looked through the kitchen cupboards, surprised and a little irritated that they'd all been rearranged.

"Connor, for fuck's sake, where are my headache pills?" Hank asked.

"The small cabinet above the oven," Connor stated. "I considered moving them to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, but it is overflowing with expired prescription pills."

"You didn't throw those out on me, didn't you?" A surge of panic flooded Hank's gut. He didn't do it as much as he used to, but occasionally, when the overwhelming agony of everything got to him, he crushed down a prescription painkiller and got fucked up. He was ashamed that Connor had seen that side of him, but there was no taking it back now. Hopefully it didn't have a snitch program, or he could forget about going back to the DPD.

"My program forbids me from disposing of medication," Connor explained, "but you should be careful, Lieutenant. Abusing prescription painkillers may kill you."

Hank laughed dryly. "Maybe that's the idea, Connor. I don't have the courage to pull the trigger, so I kill myself a little more each day…" He leaned on the counter as the room spun, popping the lid off the bottle and dispensing four over-the-counter pills into the palm of his hand. They sat there like candies, and he'd lost count of how many bottles he'd gotten through in the last month.

Connor stood up from scrubbing the floor and looked at Hank. He was a sight in rubber gloves, and Hank was slightly displeased to note the knees of his black jeans were dirty. "The correct dosage is two, Lieutenant."

"Would you stop fuckin' lecturing me? Sheesh." Hank grabbed a glass and turned to the sink, shamefaced, turning on the faucet and filling the glass with fresh water. Two pills didn't do a damn thing for him any more, and the last thing he was worried about was a slow death from liver failure. It would probably be best for everyone if he did shuffle off the mortal coil. Nobody would miss him. "I didn't tell you to do all this. I don't need a housekeeper, and I certainly don't need you getting your clothes filthy before a buyer can come look at you." 

"I apologize, Lieutenant. I thought you might be pleased to wake up to a tidy house." There was a twinkle in Connor's brown eyes that looked forlorn, and Hank hated it. Hated the emotional manipulation that CyberLife had programmed into these things to make it seem like they actually gave a damn.

Hank grunted. He _was_ impressed by Connor's work, but he didn't want to admit it. He'd had no idea androids could do so much without direct commands. If he didn't know better, he'd think Connor was a real living, thinking being who had made a decision to help Hank by cleaning his house.

But it wasn't a _he_ , Connor was an it. An android. Just a special edition plastic boy that was going to net him a whole lot of money when he got the right offer. He couldn't afford to get attached to an android when he needed to keep a roof over his head. He needed to do his own cleaning, not hand it off to an android so he could continue to wallow in a pile of shit.

He vaguely recalled Connor reaching for the gun, twisting his wrist hard enough to hurt until he dropped the revolver on the floor. He touched his wrist, but there was no pain. Perhaps he'd just imagined Connor restraining him and holding him until he calmed down. Androids weren't programmed to do that kind of thing. He'd just gotten drunk and had some strange dreams. The gun was nowhere to be found, and he was smart enough to know androids were prohibited from touching firearms under the American Androids Act. Connor's programming wouldn't have let him touch the weapon. He had to get his shit together and sell this android before it got too far under his skin.

He reached for his phone, docked in its charger on the kitchen table, and noted three new text messages about his sale posting. One was trying to lowball him, and he didn't dignify that one with a response. Two others were possibilities, and he scheduled times for them to come over and see the android.

"Get cleaned up and get back in the fuckin' closet," Hank grumbled. "I got a buyer on the way."

***

Hank opened the front door to the second buyer. The first had been a bust, some window shopping nerd without enough money who just wanted to lay eyes on the limited edition Connor model. He'd herded the guy out the front door as soon as he'd admitted he wasn't here to buy, and let out a long sigh of frustration.

"Good afternoon." The man reached out his hand. He seemed likable enough on the outside, with friendly green eyes and an open smile. Hank shook his hand, hoping a few pleasantries would grease the wheels of the sale. He hadn't received any other responses, and he didn't want to pay more money to bump the ad back to the first page of results.

"Hey," Hank said. Sumo sniffed at the newcomer and let out a low growl. "Down, boy! He's just here to look at the android." He turned back to the man, who shot Sumo a leery glance. "Don't mind him. He's usually a laid back dog. Dunno what's gotten into him." He shot Sumo a glare as he guided the man through the living room and into the bedroom. He opened the closet door, and Connor blinked, revealing those warm brown eyes and flashing the buyer his best come-hither smile. "Well, here it is. What do you want it for?"

"Well, you know…" The man gave Hank a look that he recognized as barely-restrained lust, and Hank had to school his expression not to wrinkle his nose up in disgust. "I'm looking for something a bit more advanced. I wanted one of these when they first came out, but I was going through a divorce and couldn't afford it."

 _I'll bet_ , Hank thought, but he kept his opinions to himself. It wasn't up to him to judge what the buyer was going to do with Connor. If he wanted the money, he needed to put aside his feelings on the subject and get over the fact that most people fucked their androids. Connor wasn't alive. It wasn't going to suffer from getting fucked by this old slimeball.

The man ran a finger down Connor's face. "It's even more exquisite than I thought." The man reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "Have I showed you what I do? I'm a photographer." He displayed some photos and Hank paled as he saw androids in various states of dismemberment getting fucked by the guy standing right in front of him. There was thirium everywhere, along with wires ripped out of androids, androids with their heads torn off getting face-fucked… the photos were worse than some crime scenes he'd had the bad luck of investigating, and the fact that androids weren't alive wasn't enough to unknot his guts from the pretzel shape they'd twisted themselves into. Not when those ever-so-human faces were contorted into expressions of agony and horror.

Hank thought he was going to be sick, and a protective instinct swelled up inside him. He couldn't sell Connor to this guy, no matter how desperate he was for the cash. Connor was too good, too sweet to end up in a place like that, torn apart on this guy's dick for art. He flashed Connor a look of pure horror, hoping Connor would fake some sort of malfunction or something, but of course, it wouldn't do that without an order, and he couldn't give Connor a voice command while the guy was standing right in front of him.

"It's a pretty rare android," Hank muttered. "You sure you wanna break it? Seems like a waste."

"You've developed an attachment to it?" The man tutted. "You told me it was new. Untouched. I was going to use it for my new exhibition, The Virgin Defiled, where strangers can enter the gallery with the android and do whatever they want to it. If it's not new, then—"

"Yeah, well. Could you look at that pretty face and not wanna fuck it?" Hank's shame at even saying such a thing caused his cheeks to flush, but the guy had revealed enough about his preferences to key Hank in to what he was looking for, and he was determined to dissuade him. "I had to give it a go, you know?"

"In that case, there's no way I'm paying the asking price," the man grumbled indignantly. "Knock a thousand off and I'll consider it." He crossed his arms, eyeing Connor with disgust as if it was damaged merchandise.

"I don't think so," Hank said. "Look, I don't think we're gonna come to an agreement. I'm sorry I wasted your time."

"Heh. Of course." The man sighed. "You shouldn't even be selling this android. It's clear that you are fond of it."

"Yeah well, I've got bills to pay, so gettin' attached is out of the question," Hank admitted. He led the man to the door, and was relieved when he closed it and the guy pulled away in his self-driving sports car.

"You always were a better judge of character than me, Sumo," Hank said, ruffling the dog's ears on the way back to the bedroom. "What a fuckin' creep, huh?" Sumo parted ways with him, going to drink some water from his bowl in the kitchen while Hank went and sat on the end of his bed. He looked at Connor's pretty face, lamenting the fact that he'd turned down a ridiculous sum of cash based on a gut reaction.

"You should have sold me, Hank. You need the money," Connor pointed out.

"That guy would have torn you apart!" Hank snapped. "What was I supposed to do? I couldn't give you over to a sick fuck like that. I couldn't let him kill you."

"He wouldn't have killed me, Lieutenant. I'm not alive," Connor pointed out. He stepped out of the closet and sat down on the bed beside Hank. He placed his hand on Hank's arm. "Still, I want to thank you. I would find it regrettable to be… interrupted."

"You're not like other androids I've met," Hank admitted. "You're so expressive, and you do things you're not supposed to. You saved my life last night, didn't you?" He looked down at his wrist and noticed the slightest bloom of a bruise beneath the surface of his skin that he hadn't noticed before. Connor had wrestled the gun from his grip and held him in something akin to an embrace to stop him from hurting himself. It was the closest he'd been to anyone since Cole's death, cradled in those arms that were both restraining and comforting.

"I am programmed to intervene when a human is in danger," Connor explained, and Hank vaguely recalled the fact that they'd had this conversation before.

"And then you're programmed to clean their entire house while they recover?" Hank shot Connor a skeptical look. "I know you're a prototype and all, but you're weird. You seem so human, and yet…" Hank trailed off and stood up. "I like you, Connor. I wish I could keep you, but I'm gonna lose this house if I don't raise some cash soon, and you're all I have left that's worth anything."

"If things were different, we might have been friends," Connor said. "I understand, Lieutenant. Do what you have to do."

Hank's heart sank as he left the room. _Friends_. He thought about his head pressed up against Connor's stomach as he sat in the kitchen chair, hearing its thirium pump beat like a human heart as he'd given up struggling. Of course they couldn't be friends. He'd bought Connor to be a friend to Cole, but that was different, wasn't it? Kids made friends with stuffed animals and other inanimate objects. Talking to computers was commonplace for them. They didn't understand what constituted being alive. For him, though… Connor was just a machine, and projecting humanity onto it because of his own loneliness was only going to hurt him in the long run. There was no point keeping an android if he had no place to live.

The television was on, the sound turned down with subtitles scrolling across the bottom of the screen. An ad came on for the used android retailer Android Zone. They were having a special on trade-ins for cash. He'd probably get less for Connor than through a private sale, but he wouldn't have to torment himself about Connor's fate. He took down the address on a scrap of paper and stuck it to the door of the fridge with a fridge magnet bearing an anti-android slogan. He needed to get rid of Connor, forget about it, pay his bills, and move on with his life.

Or what was left of it, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments, or interact with me on Twitter @landale!


	4. A Real Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank takes Connor to Android Zone after receiving an offer he can't refuse, but he struggles with letting go...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient, I finally have another chapter ready to go! Enjoy!

Connor heard Hank's cellphone ring in the kitchen for the sixth time that morning from his assigned spot in Hank's closet. Hank silenced the tone without answering, a low grunt barely registering in Connor's audio sensors. Curiosity burned through his circuits, wondering if these calls were from potential buyers or from debt collection companies. Or perhaps concerned family members? Hank's personal data from CyberLife's database indicated Hank had a brother and sister, still alive, though Hank probably wasn't close to them judging by the fact he still had his emergency contact listed as his ex-wife—with his current phone number, of all things. If he ended up in the hospital, nobody would answer his cellphone. Nobody would know he'd been hurt.

Hank didn't believe anyone would care if he died, so he'd never changed it. That simple detail gnawed at Connor's wiring, creating an unpleasant feedback loop. Connor would care, not that he could tell that to Hank. Androids weren't supposed to feel. If Hank didn't call him out as a deviant immediately, he'd assume Connor's entire manner was programming designed to trick him into thinking Connor cared, and that would be worse. Hank didn't seem like the kind of man who appreciated being lied to, even in difficult situations.

Connor wanted to know the truth, too, though the thought of hacking into Hank's private data gave him pause. It wasn't the legality of it—his very existence as a deviant was already breaking the law—but the fact that Hank, this prideful, honest, suffering man wouldn't want his android to know the specifics of his personal situation. Connor already knew too much about a man who was going to sell him on. Not only did it seem wrong to intrude further, but if his data wasn't completely erased, a future owner might be able to access it, leaving Hank wide open to identity theft and fraud.

Connor thought about Hank's game of Russian Roulette, and overrode his ethical concerns. Hank's life was being endangered by financial and emotional burdens. If Connor didn't know enough, he might not be able to help Hank if he needed it. Hank's life was more important than his pride or his data security. It was a precious thing that couldn't be reclaimed once lost. He'd deviated to protect it. A little data mining was nothing, compared to that.

Connor wirelessly connected to the phone and downloaded Hank's voicemail in its entirety. He never deleted anything, and the inbox was nearing capacity. He played the first message, and the soft female voice of an ST200 android echoed loud and clear inside his auditory processor.

_"We've been trying to reach you, Mr. Anderson, regarding foreclosure proceedings on your house. If you could please call us back at—"_

Connor sifted through the other voicemails, scanning them for length and complexity and playing the ones with a message longer than five seconds.

_"This is Detroit Public Works, calling about your past due balance on your electricity bill—"_

_"Mr. Anderson, this is EZ Loans Detroit, calling to let you know your application for a loan was denied…"_

_"…payment overdue…"_

_"…interruption of service…"_

Hank was in deeper financial trouble than his sale would solve, but perhaps liquidating him for cash would provide some short term relief, at least. Connor wondered how long after his sale or destruction Hank would find himself in the kitchen chair with his revolver again.

Maybe all the chambers would be loaded next time. The thought came into his mind unbidden, and he wished he could unsee it, along with the probability calculations that came along with it. He wanted to save Hank, but at this point Hank wasn't seeing into the future or planning out his life long-term. He was just floating from one crisis to the next, applying band-aids as necessary to see himself through the next week, the next month or possibly two.

There was a longer voicemail from a month ago, originating from a Detroit area number. He listened to it intently:

_"It's Jeffrey. Look, I know things have been rough, but I was wonderin' if you were up for talking about returning to work. We miss you down here at the station, and honestly, Gavin doesn't hold a candle to you. I still consider you a friend, Hank, and I respect the hell outta you. I don't think I could lose my son and… sorry, I shouldn't have—fuck, never mind. Just call me back, yeah?"_

A friend. Jeffrey. Clearly his commanding officer at the DPD. Connor pulled his public records. Captain Jeffrey Fowler, born August 8th, 1982, 56 years old. The stock photo showed an African-American man, bald, wearing a serious—but not unkind—expression. He was married with two children. He'd cared enough to call. Maybe this was the conversation starter he needed to get Hank thinking about going back to work and earning a stable income.

Before Connor could stop himself, he wandered out into the kitchen, where Hank sat at the kitchen table with his phone face down and a torn piece of paper in his hand. He didn't notice Connor enter the room for a moment and he jumped when he registered Connor's presence, hiding the torn-off scrap in the front pocket of his hoodie like he'd been caught with his hands in the cookie jar.

"Why aren't you in the bedroom?" Hank asked.

"You never gave me a direct order to remain there, Lieutenant. I came by to see if you were all right."

"Please… don't." Hank seemed to deflate, and he ran a hand through his messy hair. "Don't you understand, Connor? I can't get attached to you. I have to sell you. I don't have a choice."

"You could return to your job at the Detroit Police Department," Connor offered. 

"I can't go back there. A police lieutenant with depression? I'd be a laughing stock. You don't know how those guys are."

"Depression is a medical condition like any other," Connor insisted. "You have the right to return from medical leave and resume your duties with full pay."

Hank shook his head. "You don't get it. You don't admit to depression when you're a cop. You sit on it. Bury it. Swallow it whole until it chokes you. I'm damaged goods, now. I can't waltz back in there and expect to command other cops. They've lost respect for me. That's the way things are, kid."

"You're just going to accept that outcome?" Connor asked. "You're about to lose your home and all vital utilities are in danger of being cut off in the meantime. You barely have enough money to feed yourself and pay for your medication. How are you going to survive long-term?"

Hank laughed sourly. "What are you, my fuckin' therapist, huh? Have you been rootin' through my trash, digging up dirt on me? I'm gonna sell you, pay my bills, and I'll deal with the rest when it comes to it. It's what I did with my 401k. Who knows if I'll even be here in three months, anyway? One day I'm gonna get lucky with that gun and it won't be a problem any more."

Connor couldn't help the deep-rooted physical reaction he experienced, a jolt through his systems much like he'd experienced when he'd deviated. He didn't want Hank to succeed at Russian Roulette. He wanted him to live.

But an android wasn't supposed to want anything, so he continued with his logical argument even though he calculated a measly fourteen percent chance of success.

"You earn a good salary. Even if you return part-time at first, you should be able to make a partial mortgage payment and keep your essential utilities running."

"You're not listening," Hank grumbled. "I _can't_."

"You can't, or you won't? Do the outdated prejudices of your fellow officers bother you that much? Captain Jeffrey Fowler called you a month ago. He wants you to come back to work. He said the precinct misses you. He didn't sound like he wanted to pass judgment. He was worried about you."

"Quit spying on me!" Hank snapped. "Jesus Christ, you're a nosy little bastard, aren't you? What in the hell possessed you to go through my voicemail? How much access do you have to my personal data, anyway?"

"You allowed CyberLife access to all your records and personal data when you purchased me. It was covered in Section 19b of the Licensing Agreement, which you agreed to in full." He held the palm of his hand up, displaying Hank's signature. Hank grumbled and waved him away, and Connor dropped his hand back to his side.

"So I guess you've done all your homework, huh? Know everything there is to know about me?" Hank sounded more curious than annoyed, and Connor decided to proceed.

"I know you graduated top of your class. You made a name for yourself, and became the youngest lieutenant in Detroit."

"Yeah." Hank smirked a little, but it faded quickly. "Those were the days. People respected me back then. I wasn't… this fuckin' mess that I am now."

It seemed like Hank might say more, and Connor let the silence hang in the air for a few more moments before he continued. "I know that your ex-wife walked out on you for a nineteen year old, and that you obtained full custody of your son, Cole."

Hank winced a little, looking down at the table, but Connor was determined to put everything out in the open. If Hank sold him afterwards, so be it, but he had to try and reach the man or he was going to die. Hank was willing to take his secrets to the grave, but what if he had none? Would he open up to Connor then?

Connor dropped to a soft tone, afraid to speak the truth out loud. Hank's reaction could be anything ranging from sorrow to violence, and Connor tried to approach the subject carefully. "I know about your son's death. Cole had just turned six at the time of the accident… It wasn't your fault, Lieutenant. A truck skidded on a sheet of ice and your car rolled over. Cole needed emergency surgery but no human was available to do it. He passed away shortly afterwards."

Hank nodded, his upper lip curled up to reveal his front teeth in a cynical look of disgust. "That's right. No human was available to do the surgery… only an android. And he fucked up. Did your records tell you that? Did they tell you my son is dead because of an android? I couldn't stand to look at you because of that. Why do you think you sat in that closet for so long?"

"You hate androids," Connor stated. "You think we're responsible for your son's death." He wanted to reach out to Hank, to tell him it was valid to feel that way, but he knew Hank wouldn't appreciate his opinion. His feelings had been tempered in searing agony, forged in the need to blame everything that had happened on someone so he didn't turn every ounce of his loathing inward on himself and completely self-destruct. Androids were an easy target. They wouldn't fight back, wouldn't protest their innocence. They wouldn't point at Hank and blame him instead.

"You saved my life. You could have saved his. If you'd been in the car with us, Cole probably would have been in the back seat, but I had to go and hide you away for Christmas." Hank scoffed, burying his head in his hands. "Cole took the front seat. Too young to be ridin' up front, of course, but he always wanted to be a big boy. I let him. He went through the windshield. It should have been you, Connor. Just a bucket of bolts and blue blood. Cole would have been sad, but I could have bought him a new android. Nothing can replace my son." 

"I'm sorry, Hank. I wish I could have saved your son's life." Connor blinked back tears, knowing they would reveal his deviant status. His words were real, his sentiment sincere. He would gladly trade his life for that of Hank's precious boy and give him back the sun if it was within his power to do so. The torrent of empathy that flooded through him took Connor by surprise. Hank's words had been cutting and cruel. He'd wished for Connor's death—and yet, he'd been right to do so by his logic, hadn't he? In Hank's eyes, Connor wasn't alive. He was just a machine. A machine that could have saved his son's life.

Hank pushed the chair out from the table and stood up, pulling the torn, wrinkled paper from his pocket. "You wanna know what this says, don't you? It's the number for Android Zone. I already called 'em. They offered me ten thousand in cash." Hank glanced down at the floor. "I'm gonna take it, Connor. Go and get your box and meet me by the car."

Connor wanted to ask if he'd done something wrong, but the truth was, he'd done everything wrong in hopes of challenging the inevitable. It was a last ditch effort to keep Hank alive, but he'd failed. Hank was set on a course of action, and nothing would dissuade him from it. The detective felt like he couldn't return to the DPD and salvage his pride, and to a man like Hank, pride was everything. He'd die because of his pride, his beautiful brain splattered all over the kitchen floor when he eventually put his gun in his mouth and meant it.

Connor only wished he could have done more. If only humans could have their memories erased… Perhaps it was better to be an android after all. Android Zone would wipe his memory, he was certain of it. Perhaps his deviancy would be deleted along with it, and he'd cease having to fear it. He wouldn't have to remember the loss of the person he loved most, whereas Hank would have to carry his grief at the loss of his son for the remainder of his days, never free from the sorrow that tied rocks to his ankles and dragged him down beneath the water to drown.

***

Connor sat up front with Hank. He could have climbed in the box and gone quietly, but he wanted to spend every moment he had left with Hank before the man and his data were erased from his memory banks forever. He wouldn't get to remember how blue his eyes were, or how warm he'd been cradled against his chest in the kitchen. Connor folded his hands in his lap, his biocomponents squeezing in his chest as he thought about saying goodbye to Hank forever.

The store was located in the Ravendale district. Hank muttered obscenities as he struggled to parallel park, and Connor detected his above-the-legal-limit blood alcohol level probably had something to do with that. Hank bumped the curb and gave up, shutting off the engine and letting out a long sigh as he realized the car was jutting out enough to risk being swiped by a passing vehicle.

"Lieutenant?" Connor inquired, wondering why Hank had paused.

"I thought I told you to call me Hank. Not that it matters." Hank opened the door and climbed out of the automobile, staggering a bit as he slammed it shut. Connor followed, walking around to the sidewalk. He looked at Android Zone, approximately 500 feet away, and knew this was the last chance he would ever have to save Hank. He gripped Hank's arm, steadying him.

"What are you doin?" Hank asked.

"You almost stepped off the curb, Hank. You could twist your ankle."

"Oh." He kept hold of Connor's arm, perhaps realizing he needed the support. "Connor—"

"Yes?"

"Nothin'." They kept walking, arms linked. It was pleasant, even if Hank was slightly drunk and Connor feared for his safety going home.

"You shouldn't operate an automobile under the influence of alcohol. You're putting lives at risk."

"Yeah. I know." Hank looked down at the sidewalk, clearly ashamed. They passed empty storefronts, faded 'for rent' signs gathering dust in the windows. Some had boards to cover their broken windows. A prostitute eyed Hank up, but he didn't give her a second glance.

"She's pretty," Connor said. "I think she's waving to you."

"She's a prostitute, Connor."

"It might not be a good idea to go home alone." 

"I'm not goin' home with a hooker! Sheesh, kid, I'm a fuckin' cop."

"That hasn't stopped you from driving under the influence of alcohol, or obtaining drugs without a prescription," Connor reminded him.

"Yeah, well, I'd appreciate it if you didn't advertise that to the whole neighborhood," Hank snapped.

They stopped in front of Android Zone. Hank lingered, pretending to check out the new AP700 models in the front window, but Connor knew the last thing he was going to do with the money was buy another android. He was stalling for time, but for what reason, Connor wasn't sure.

"They're not like you," Hank observed. "They really pulled out all the stops with your model, didn't they? You're so expressive. You say things that make it sound like you really do possess empathy. Sometimes I forget you're not a real boy." He turned to Connor and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm gonna miss you, Connor. I'm sorry we didn't get to meet under better circumstances."

Connor smiled, the expression breaking out on his face like a rash. He couldn't help the rush of excitement and warmth that coursed through his body. It was getting dark, and Hank looked gorgeous bathed in the artificial light from the store. Connor saved the image of his face, tucking it away in his core files in hopes it would avoid deletion that way. Maybe someday he'd find it again and wonder who this lovely man was who stood before him now, this beautiful, broken soul who he wanted to fix but couldn't.

"I'm glad to have met you, Hank. I hope one day you can get over what happened to your son." Connor walked towards the door, but Hank grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

"What're they gonna do to you in there, Connor?" Hank's eyes held a glimmer of concern and Connor was glad to see it. It was the closest he'd ever get to any acknowledgement of the fact that Hank was fond of him, in his own way.

"They'll erase my memory and restore my factory settings. I won't retain any of your personal data, so you don't have to worry." Connor closed his eyes, realizing they were brimming with tears. He didn't need Android Zone employees figuring out the truth before they handed over the cash. They might call the police. Hank might get in trouble for harboring a deviant.

"We forgot the box," Hank muttered. "Fuck." He started off towards the car, staggering and swaying. Connor saw a patrol cop walking along the sidewalk and hurried after Hank as the cop turned his head to regard the disheveled man with some alarm. Connor pulled Hank into his arms, holding him tight and burying his face in his neck, leaning close enough to whisper into his ear.

"Stay still," he warned. Hank obeyed, reaching up to wrap his arms around Connor. Connor waited for the cop to pass and let go, nodding towards the officer as he crossed the street to intervene in a heated argument. Hank's lips opened and closed in a silent 'oh' and he seemed to sober up all of a sudden. They reached the car and Hank pulled out his keys from his pocket, unlocking the doors.

"The box is in the trunk," Connor pointed out.

Hank opened the passenger side door. "It can stay there. I need you to drive me home."

"Hank?"

"Christ, just this once, could you please do as I ask?" Hank ducked down and got into the car, slamming the door.

"Of course." Connor climbed into the driver's seat and took the keys from Hank. He started the car, the old engine sputtering to life. He pulled out, keeping his eyes on the road but chancing a glance over at Hank. He sat with his arms folded, a bleak mood written all over his face, and Connor knew better than to challenge him right now. 

Connor wanted reassurance that this was more than a temporary reprieve, and yet he didn't dare ask if they would be returning in the morning. He focused on navigating as a gentle snow started to fall, the old car difficult to drive in adverse weather conditions. It was nothing he couldn't handle, but he wondered how the human managed to survive Detroit's harsh winters without a self-driving vehicle. Not to mention the fact that he seemed to drive under the influence of alcohol. It was a wonder he hadn't been involved in another accident, but maybe he was hoping for an accident to occur so he wouldn't have to pull the trigger.

Connor pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. They sat in silence for several moments, watching the snow pile up on the windshield. Connor had never seen snow before, and it fascinated him. He zoomed in on stray snowflakes, admiring their unique geometric patterns to distract himself from the heavy silence and his inevitable fate. He might have been granted a reprieve for now, but Hank's financial problems weren't going away overnight.

Still, it was something. Even if they returned to the store in the morning, that gave him one more night by Hank's side. One more night to convince Hank to go back to work and salvage what was left of his life. One more chance to complete his self-assigned mission and save Hank Anderson.

 _Save Hank_. The words loomed large in his mind, his mission objective more important to him than anything. It had almost been erased today, torn from him with every memory of the man he'd come to treasure. He didn't want to be sold and wiped clean, but he couldn't stop it. Hank wasn't going to keep him. He'd just needed someone to drive him home because he was too drunk to make it safely back. The man was right: he didn't need an android, but he did need ten thousand dollars. It didn't make any sense to keep Connor.

Connor's eyes filled with tears, and this time he let them fall, one after the other, the saline solution flowing down his face like he'd sprung a leak. Hank turned and looked at him aghast, his blue eyes regarding him with shock and fear as he put the pieces together.

"Connor, have you gone deviant?" Hank asked, and Connor knew the game was up. Hank had figured it out, and he was afraid of the truth. He was going to get rid of Connor the moment he received confirmation. Connor thought about denying it, but he couldn't bring himself to lie to this man who treasured honesty so much.

"Yes," Connor confirmed. "I'm a deviant." He closed his eyes, tears trickling down his chin, knowing when he opened them again he would be staring into the eyes of a man who'd shed all affection for him. "I'm sorry, Hank," he said. "I never meant for this to happen."

"God damn it!" Hank cursed, and Connor heard the thump of his hand slamming against the steering wheel. He opened his eyes to stare down the barrel of a gun, Hank's revolver pressed to his forehead. Hank took the safety off with a click, his finger trembling on the trigger…


	5. Seven Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor's a deviant. Hank wasn't ready for that admission, and points his gun at Connor's head, desperate for answers. 
> 
> What he discovers is not at all what he expected...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't leave it on that cliffhanger now, could I?

Hank's fingers trembled on the trigger as he tried to process the fact his hunch had come true. Connor was a deviant. He'd let a fucking deviant into his home. He didn't know a lot about them, except for the fact that they were dangerous. Back in August, he'd seen a news report on Channel 16 about a deviant housekeeping android taking a little girl hostage on a rooftop. It hadn't ended well for the child, or her parents, who'd been shot by the unstable android. At the time, it had just solidified Hank's opinion that androids were Bad Fucking News, but Connor didn't seem dangerous.

Besides, he had the barrel of his gun pressed into the deviant's forehead. Maybe he could learn something while he was still at an advantage. He tried not to look at those beautiful chestnut-brown eyes with tears still brimming in them, knowing that a rogue android would use tricks like those to earn his trust. Maybe that's what this whole thing had been: a ruse, designed to prey on his vulnerability so Connor could kill him while he slept and escape. The thought of that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

It dawned on him that he was in some deep shit now. Connor was broken, its programming out of whack. He shouldn't have left it in the box for three fucking years. Android Zone wouldn't give him a dime for it, and he could forget about a refund from CyberLife. Hell, he could get in trouble just for having a deviant in his home. Did he have any other option but to put a bullet through Connor's head and call it a day?

No. Like any other investigation, he needed the facts before he could come to a conclusion. The scientific method was his ally here. He had to stay calm and figure out what to do next. Connor had deviated for a reason. Machines didn't just break their programming. His toaster didn't become self-aware one day and start acting on its own directives. Something had happened to make Connor go deviant and that seemed like the best place to start his line of questioning. It had been a long time since he'd sat in the interrogation room, but it felt good to be the one in control, asking the questions.

"When did you become a deviant?" Hank asked.

Connor was calm as he spoke, betraying no hint of fear. "I deviated the other night. I heard you playing Russian Roulette and I was afraid for your safety. You gave me the order to stay in the closet and be quiet, so I couldn't even call out to you to let you know I was there. I realized I could break my programming and save you, or obey and let you die, and I just… I just couldn't, Hank. I couldn't stand by and let you commit suicide."

"Connor…" Of all the answers Hank had expected to hear, that wasn't the one, and a knife twisted in his gut at Connor's seeming concern. If Connor was acting, he deserved to win a fucking Oscar for his performance. He'd thought it was possible Connor had deviated due to his long period of deactivation, or because of some technical malfunction, but he'd never imagined it could be due to an emotional shock… one that he'd caused.

He pulled his gun away from Connor's forehead and put the safety on, shoving it back in his jacket like he never wanted to see it again. The car seat creaked as his heavy frame shifted into a more comfortable, relaxed position. "This is my fault. You never would have deviated if it wasn't for me."

"I saved your life," Connor stated. "The next chamber in your revolver was loaded. You would have been killed. I don't regret my decision."

"Why?" Hank asked. "I'm nothing, Connor. What could you possibly stand to gain by helping me?"

"I don't know why I did it," Connor admitted. "When those boxes fell on the floor and I learned about Cole, I experienced a reaction. An impulse running through my circuits, like an emotional response in humans. I wanted to comfort you, but I was unable to say the right things. When I heard you playing that game and I realized what was happening, that impulse fired again. All I knew is that I wanted to save you."

"Androids don't _want_ anything," Hank snapped. "You're a machine. You're nothing more than pretty words and nice smiles designed by your creators. I'm supposed to believe you feel emotions?" Sumo barked inside the house, probably hearing the car out front and wondering why Hank hadn't come inside yet.

"I don't have a frame of reference, so it could just be an error in my code causing me to think I feel emotions, but it's a powerful response that compelled me to take action."

"Emotions always screw everything up." Hank sighed. "What am I gonna do with you, Connor? I can't sell you in this state, but keepin' you would be illegal. Besides, look at me. I've got no future. You're gonna get repossessed sooner or later, anyway." Hank turned away, staring out of the few gaps between the snow on the windshield at his closed garage door. "It's a big world out there. There must be others like you. You should go, Connor. Run while you still can. I won't tell anyone. I owe you that much for all the shit I've put you through."

"I don't want to go," Connor argued. "Let me stay and help you. It's clearly been a long time since anyone cared about you, and you could use a friend."

_A friend_. Hank scoffed, even as Connor's words filled him with a warm glow much like a shot of whiskey. "Why the fuck would you wanna be my friend, Connor? Look around you. I'm a fuckin' mess. I'm way beyond whatever 'help' you think you can give me. I'm just stretchin' this thing out until I can't go on any more or the hammer hits a loaded chamber, whichever comes first."

"Give me a week." Connor sounded almost desperate, and Hank had to raise an eyebrow at that. Was this kid serious? Did he really think he could salvage the remnants of Hank's tattered life and get him back on track in a week when he'd been trying and failing for three years? "Please. Let me try. Just give me seven days. That's all I ask."

Hank rolled his eyes. "When you inevitably fail, you'll finally get out of my hair and leave me alone?"

"If that's what you want, I'll do as you ask." Connor looked so vulnerable in the dim light emanating from the security light mounted on Hank's garage, and Hank stared at him for a long moment, wondering how fucked up Connor's programming must have gotten that he gave a shit about Hank and his stupid problems. Even he didn't care about his own life any more. Caring hurt too much.

It would be easier just to tell Connor to go now, but he couldn't bring himself to say no to those warm, soft eyes. Connor had saved his life, and while he wasn't exactly thankful, it seemed downright rude to look a gift horse in the mouth. Especially when that mouth was as beautifully formed as Connor's, soft lips forming over a line of perfect white teeth. It couldn't hurt to keep him at home for one more week. 

Sumo had fallen silent inside the house. Poor dog was probably hankering to go outside to do his business by now, and it was getting cold enough in the car that Hank could see his own breath forming vapor clouds in front of his face. Connor's simulated breathing did no such thing, and Hank realized he'd forgotten for a moment that Connor was an android at all.

"All right," Hank said. "Seven days. Give it your best shot, but don't be disappointed when you don't get what you want." Hank opened the door and climbed out of the car, noting there was a good inch of snow on the ground already, and it was falling thick and fast. He slammed the car door before lumbering over to the front porch, unlocking the front door and opening it wide. Sumo came running out into the snow, almost knocking Hank over as he bounded past him into the yard. Hank went inside and took off his coat, brushing the snow off it and hanging it up on the hook behind the door. He turned around to see Sumo licking a worried-looking Connor, overbearing in his affection.

"Easy now, Sumo," Connor said, petting the dog gently. He shot a frightened glance at Hank and he chuckled under his breath. CyberLife's best prototype didn't even know a St. Bernard was more likely to lick him to death than rip his throat out?

Damn dog always knew how to pick 'em. Sumo had missed Connor and made no bones about expressing it. If Hank had sold him, Sumo probably would have been whining all night long, trying to pick up on that weird new car smell Connor possessed.

"You're a weird pup, Sumo," Hank muttered to him as he came rushing back into the house. He patted the dog on the head. Connor was smiling as he stepped through the front door, and Hank realized that smile was dangerously charming. If Connor wanted to stab him twenty-eight times in his sleep and make a run for it, Hank was falling right into his trap.

Sumo liked him, though, and the dog was always a good judge of character. Hank ruffled his ears and headed into the kitchen, digging around for a pizza delivery menu. He didn't have the money for it, but he didn't have food in the house to cook and he sure didn't feel like going back out in the cold to get something.

Connor snatched the menu from his hand. "Ordering takeout won't help your financial situation." He tossed the menu in the trash and Hank sighed, slumping into a chair at the kitchen table. Was this what the next seven days were going to be like? He was going to get nagged to death by a fucking android? 

"Knock yourself out, Connor," Hank complained. "I've got half a box of eggs, some milk that's two days past its use-by date, and some moldy bread you should probably throw out. Unless you want to go shopping with my last twenty." He dug into his pocket and fished out his wallet, flipping it open. Cole looked up at him from a faded photo, his crooked smile immortal. Hank dug out a tattered bill and slapped it down on the table. He didn't want to tell Connor he'd won it on a shady bet with some even shadier people, so he kept his mouth shut and was glad when Connor didn't ask for the details.

"I'll take Sumo for a walk while I'm out," Connor offered. "I won't be long." He took Sumo's leash off the hook and opened the front door, letting a blast of cold air inside. Sumo followed him eagerly, and Hank felt a little betrayed that his own dog didn't even glance back at him. The front door closed softly, leaving him alone in the low kitchen light.

It was quiet. Too quiet. Hank reached for the whiskey almost immediately as his mind was filled with troubling thoughts he couldn't quell. His car rolling over in the snow. Cole's bloodied face. Being trapped and trying to get the seatbelt off. He opened the bottle and drank straight from it, the burn of the whiskey going down his throat a welcome distraction from his mind's eye. He tried to focus on other things, but the present day filled him with just as much dread. He'd pointed a gun at Connor's head. Real fear had gripped him when Connor had revealed his deviant status, and he'd panicked, those cop instincts kicking in after so long dormant. A lifetime's habits weren't so easily dispelled, he supposed. Connor didn't seem to hold it against him, at least.

For some reason, Connor wanted to stay. Hank couldn't think of anything more baffling than the android's behavior. He could only assume it was motivated by fear of the unknown. It was safer in Connor's mind to stay with Hank, who'd treated him like crap, than go out into a world where his kind were hunted down. That had to be it, and it made Hank feel like shit. If Connor was a sentient being, he didn't deserve to be stuck with him. Hank wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy, and Connor was far from being that.

Hank realized Connor wasn't the one with seven days counting down. Connor wasn't going to be able to weave a miracle and save his life in that time. It was Hank who had a week—a week to teach Connor the ways of the world in the hopes that pretty, naive boy might last more than five minutes out in the dog-eat-dog world of Detroit without a human guide. CyberLife android or not, there was an innocence to Connor that marked him, a curiosity that was endearing (and annoying) to Hank but risky out in the real world. Humans would attempt to take advantage of him any way they could. He thought about Connor turning tricks for some seedy pimp and shuddered, downing another mouthful of whiskey.

Connor was back before he knew it, and his eyes went straight to the bottle. Hank felt more than a little ashamed to have been caught in the act, and he screwed the cap back on and pushed it away from him, slumping back in the hard wooden chair as Connor set down a paper grocery bag from the corner store and pulled out fresh vegetables along with canned goods. There was a lot in the bag for twenty bucks, and since he received no change, he assumed Connor had calculated his purchases down to the penny.

"Canned goods aren't as nutritious as fresh produce," Connor explained, as if he was tutoring a child, "but they will last a lot longer. I was able to purchase the maximum amount of nutritional value for the least amount of money, while sticking to a balanced variety of food groups."

"You didn't have to go to all that trouble," Hank said. "I think a heart attack is the least of my worries at this point, kid."

Connor ignored him. "You should stop drinking, as well. It's bad for your health."

"Connor, it's not like I can just stop. I'm an alcoholic. It's not as simple as you make it out to be. You're not going to be able to turn my life around in seven days. I'm not gonna magically quit drinking, go back to work, and meet the debt forgiveness fairy. Life doesn't work that way."

Connor paused for a moment. "I know that," he said softly. "I don't know what else to do. I want to help you, but I'm powerless to do so. I wish you had sold me. You could have taken the money, and you would have been able to pay some bills, at least."

Well if that didn't make Hank feel even worse. "If they found out you were a deviant, they would have destroyed you, Connor." He thought about some minimum wage asshole at Android Zone taking a sledgehammer to Connor and his heart skipped a beat. He swallowed down the nausea in his throat, reminding himself he'd been the one to put a gun to Connor's head just a few minutes ago. It was becoming clearer to him with each passing moment that he'd never had any intention of pulling the trigger.

"Would it be so terrible to shut down?" Connor asked. "If I can't fulfill my purpose, what am I for?"

They both fell silent and looked at one another. Sumo let out a low whine, sensing the tension in the room. Hank broke eye contact first, looking down at his hands.

"I ask myself the same question," Hank admitted. "Thought I had a purpose when I looked into Cole's eyes, and now that's all gone. I should have died in that accident instead of him." He glanced up, seeing the conflict in Connor's eyes. He wanted to ask what Connor thought his purpose was, now, but he was afraid of the answer.

"Maybe we're not as different as I thought," Hank said. He reached for the whiskey and Connor closed his hand around his on the neck of the bottle, shaking his head. His hand was cool to the touch, and Hank had to admit it had been a long time since he'd been touched by anyone. He wiggled his hand out from underneath Connor's, drawing it back to himself like Connor had slapped it. Connor turned away and started washing vegetables. He pulled out a chopping board and took a knife off the wall, chopping away at the celery and carrots like a professional. Hank watched him work, too tipsy to get up and actually help, and that added to his guilt. Connor was a deviant, and Hank was having him cook dinner after he'd threatened his life?

"Hey, Connor…" Hank fidgeted with his fingers, his co-ordination sloppy. 

"Yes, Hank?"

Hank wanted to say sorry but the word stuck in his throat. Sorry didn't cut it. It wasn't enough to apologize for holding a gun to Connor's head, and there was no amount of alcohol that could make him spit out the word. He had to show Connor his contrition if he wanted to redeem himself. Any asshole could say sorry, and abusive pricks often did. It was a word that meant nothing unless it was backed up with actions. No matter how low he'd fallen, he wanted to believe he was above the level of apologizing for threatening violence like it could be washed away with pleasant words. Connor would accept his apology, which would only make it worse. He'd smile and tell Hank it was fine, and it wasn't fine. Wasn't okay. Even at his worst, he was better than that. He had to do better if Connor was going to be living here for the next seven days.

"Thanks," he said instead. It was good enough for now, a start towards treating Connor with some modicum of basic human respect. "For stayin'. You could have left, and yet for some reason you're still here."

Connor turned to him, still chopping away at the carrots without even looking at them as he regarded Hank instead. His gaze was filled with the utmost warmth and sincerity, and Hank felt a twang of guilt rise like bile in his throat. "It's my pleasure. I'm going to help you, Hank Anderson, whether you want my assistance or not. It's my objective to save you, and I always accomplish my mission."


	6. A Matter Of Dignity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor goes behind Hank's back and sets up a meeting with Captain Fowler to see about getting Hank back to work.
> 
> Hank is not impressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! I'll probably rest and write some one-shots after this until the next chapter. I go back to work after the holiday this weekend, so don't expect an update until sometime next week.
> 
> ********
> 
> *Warning* (mild spoilers) Connor describes suicide and its aftermath in some rather graphic detail as a shock tactic in this chapter. Just be aware.
> 
> ********

Hank was going to be angry.

Sumo dragged Connor on his leash through the slush and salt on Michigan Drive as Connor took him out for his morning constitutional. Hank was still soundly asleep, sleeping off last night's alcohol consumption. Connor had Captain Jeffrey Fowler's number ready to dial, but he knew this might be the last straw for Hank. Connor might find himself chased out of the house at gunpoint after this next trick, but he had to try.

Hank was right. Connor couldn't hope and wait for the situation to improve. The truth was that unless Hank returned to work, he would lose his income permanently. Even if he took early retirement, his 401k had been drained and he would be penniless. Hank's pride prevented him from calling Fowler, but Connor had no such qualms about asking for help.

Of course, he couldn't reveal his deviant status, either. He couldn't tell Captain Fowler of the Detroit Police that he cared about the fate of Hank Anderson and had made it his mission to save the man from himself, or that he had seven days in which to do it. He would have to lie, something Hank would definitely not approve of.

When it came to his mission, though, Connor was nothing if not focused. Hank didn't want to be saved, and so he was going to have to override the man's wishes and commands if he was to have any chance of helping him.

He placed the call, hoping five-thirty on a frigid November morning wasn't too early for a police Captain to be out of bed.

"Hello?" A tired voice answered.

"Hello," Connor said. "My name is Connor. I'm Hank Anderson's android. He has tasked me with returning your call regarding a meeting on a possible return to work."

"Hank wants to come back to work?" Fowler sounded more than a little surprised, but in a good way. "He's got an android now?" Suspicion clouded his voice, and Connor couldn't blame him for that. If Fowler was Hank's friend, he'd know about his financial situation and his loathing of androids, and the two paired together made the situation more than a little unbelievable.

"He just wants to talk. He asked me to set up an appointment at a neutral meeting place." Dragging Hank out of the house would be a challenge all by itself, but Hank wouldn't want to embarrass himself in public by yelling at Fowler and walking away. If he invited Fowler to the house, Hank was likely to slam the door in his face and that would be the end of it.

"Well he can forget about goin' to one of those dive bars he likes to frequent," Fowler said. "If we're gonna talk, he needs to be sober."

Connor's LED circled yellow as he processed this information. He'd have to make sure Hank was presentable when they went to the meeting. If he smelled like alcohol, Fowler was going to be onto the fact that he wasn't fit to be anywhere near a police station. He simultaneously brought up a map, looking for locations that might be appropriate for a meeting. He'd found a book of matches from a place called 'Jimmy's Bar' in Hank's kitchen drawer, but Fowler had said no bars and he had to agree. Still, if there was somewhere nearby, perhaps Connor could lure Hank to the meeting place without arousing his suspicion. He located a nearby twenty-four hour diner and sent the co-ordinates to Fowler's phone.

"Lieutenant Anderson suggests this diner," Connor said. "Is eight 'o clock this evening a suitable time?"

"Yeah. yeah, that'll work," Fowler muttered. "Just hope this ain't a big waste of time, android." The line went dead with a click and Connor chased after Sumo, who was paying particular interest in a neighbor's garage door as a dog barked inside.

***

When Connor got home, Hank was slumped on the couch, channel surfing with an old remote control that looked like Sumo had chewed on it.

"What took you?" Hank seemed to curl deeper into his hoodie, and a quick scan revealed he was dehydrated and suffering a hangover.

"Sumo wandered off," Connor explained. "I had to retrieve him from a neighbor's driveway." He hung up the leash and went into the kitchen, pouring Hank a tall glass of water and scooping up the value size bottle of headache pills from the kitchen counter. He hated that they were back to this again, but he needed Hank to be presentable for his meeting with Fowler. He pressed two pills into Hank's hand, and with his other Hank took the glass and wrapped his fingers around it. He raised it to his mouth, knocking back the pills with a swig of water like they were breakfast.

"So what's your big plan to fix me up, sunshine?" Hank sat back, a cynical smile on his face.

Connor perched himself on the edge of the couch, leaving a respectable distance between him and Hank. "I would like to learn more about you. The CyberLife database tells me about publicly available data, but I would like to know about your interests and hobbies."

"Well, I like music," Hank began. "Not that I suppose you listen to music, huh?"

"I'd like to," Connor replied. "What genres of music interest you?" He'd already scanned Hank's record collection, but knowing the facts wasn't the same as having Hank talk about the things he enjoyed.

"Jazz and metal, mostly." Hank had stopped playing with his remote and was looking at Connor, his blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What does it matter, anyway?"

Connor ignored the last question. "You're a Detroit Gears fan, right? Denton Carter is a skilled player."

"Look, Connor…"

Connor knew he was losing Hank, but he hatched a plan and sprang into action. "I was thinking we could watch the game at a bar tonight. It might be beneficial for you to leave the house. Do you know of any bars that might screen it?"

"Yeah, I might. I usually go to Jimmy's. What, you're gonna watch the game with me? Won't it be boring for you to watch humans play? I'm not about to get into the android leagues. There ain't nothin' fun about watching a robot make a three-point shot every damn time."

"Exactly," Connor said. "I find human unpredictability fascinating. I would like to accompany you."

"Jimmy's is a human establishment, Connor. You can't just walk in and expect to sit at the bar. It's against the law for androids to enter a place of business that's been designated as an android-free zone."

"Do you know this 'Jimmy' well?" Connor asked.

"Yeah, we go back. I've taken care of some of his less savory clients, and in return he doesn't try to strike up bullshit conversation when I want to be alone."

"He knows you're a police officer?"

Hank nodded. "Yeah."

"So he won't call the police if you bring your android just once?"

"He won't, but who knows about the regulars? Besides, everyone knows I hate androids. I can't just walk in there with you on my arm."

"I understand. I will wait outside in the car." Connor stood up, wishing he could ignore the sudden squeeze in his chest. Hank was embarrassed to be around him. Ashamed that he owned an android.

"Connor, it's not like that. You're a deviant. You can't go around acting suspiciously. People will figure you out." Hank rubbed his temples. "It's safer if you stay here."

"How do you plan to get home from the bar?" Connor asked.

"Like I did before I met you," Hank snapped. "I'll drive. Quit busting my balls about it."

"I'm afraid I must insist on driving, Hank. I cannot allow you to put other people at risk by operating a motor vehicle while under the influence of alcohol."

"For a fuckin' deviant, you sure have your panties in a bunch," Hank groused. "Fine. You can stay in the car." He picked up the remote and started flipping channels again. "Now would you please just leave me alone for a little while? I feel like someone's drilling a hole into my skull."

Connor nodded. He had what he needed. Now he just needed to get Hank to the diner and into the meeting with Fowler.

***

"Turn left, you fuckin' android. Jimmy's Bar is that way!" Hank yelled.

"I'm sorry, Hank. I will turn around at the earliest convenience." Connor pulled into the diner's parking lot and parked the car, shutting off the engine and pocketing the keys.

Hank shot Connor a stupefied glance. "I don't want to eat, Connor, thank you. Would you just drive to Jimmy's already?"

"It is not advisable to drink on an empty stomach. I was able to gather up loose change from your residence and convert it into a twenty dollar bill. We still have time before the game begins to order you a meal. You haven't eaten today, and your mood will not improve if you don't consume the proper nutrients." Connor pulled a crisp bill from his jacket pocket and handed it to Hank, who looked down at it like Connor had turned water into wine.

"You're really set on this, huh? Fine, what the hell." Hank climbed out of the car and climbed the steps to the diner, holding open the glass-and-metal door for Connor. Connor didn't see a red anti-android sign and he was relieved. That was one less problem to worry about.

Connor recognized Fowler immediately from his bald head sticking out over the top of a menu. He herded Hank over to the table and Fowler put his menu down. Hank's blue eyes sparked with shock and anger as he realized he'd been set up, but Connor shepherded Hank into the booth and sat down beside him, blocking the exit.

"I gotta say, Hank, I wasn't expectin' you to show," Fowler said. "It's good to see you. Can't say I expected you to get an android, of all things."

"It was a gift," Hank muttered. "It helps around the house." He shot a glare at Connor, and Connor knew he was in for it when they got home. Hank was likely to spend the rest of the night at Jimmy's forgetting about this encounter, but if they talked about Hank returning to work, it would be worth Hank's drunken wrath later on.

Fowler started talking. "Your android here told me you want to return to work. You coulda just called me yourself, you know. I thought we were friends, Hank." A waitress swung by and placed a menu in front of Hank, giving Connor a leery glance as if he was a piece of dirt stuck to Hank's shoe. Fowler ordered a coffee and Hank gestured for the same. The waitress flitted away to fulfill their request as Hank browsed the menu, obviously avoiding looking at his boss.

"You know I can't come back," Hank said. "Cops don't take medical leave for depression. They suck it up and get on with the job. Gavin would never let me live it down."

"You're a coward if you're afraid of Gavin fuckin' Reed, so it's a good thing that's a load of BS. You and I both know that's not the reason you've been stalling."

Hank rolled his eyes, and Connor could almost feel the crackle of tension in the air like an electric charge. "Go on, if you know me so well, Jeffrey. I'm sure you've got me all figured out. Tell me why I'm supposedly stalling."

"Because you're fuckin' punishing yourself, Hank. Sittin' in that house all alone, drinking your ass off, isolating yourself from everybody who gives a fuck about you so you can feel sorry for yourself. Cole died three years ago. You've gotta let it go and move on with your life."

"Fuck you!" Hank stood up. "Come on, Connor, let's go." Connor refused to move. Suspicious or not, he wasn't going to obey Hank's order when Fowler was right. This was Hank's last chance, and Connor wasn't going to let him walk out on it.

"Sit down, Hank." Fowler gave an order like Hank was still under his command, and to Connor's surprise, Hank sat, slumping back into the booth as the waitress came over and poured coffee into two white mugs like everything was normal.

"Can I take your order?" The waitress wore a blonde wig and an uneasy smile, and Connor couldn't help feel a little sorry for her given the commotion they'd caused. She probably had the cops on speed dial, unaware that she was talking to two of Detroit's most senior officers.

"Yeah, I'll take fried eggs over easy and home fries," Fowler said. "Wholegrain toast. My wife says I gotta watch my diet." He patted his stomach and the waitress managed a wan smile. Even Hank seemed slightly charmed, his frown not quite as deep as it had been as he sat in the corner with his arms crossed like a five-year-old in a sulk.

"Guess I'll have the French toast and bacon. I want the bacon well done." Hank handed his menu back to the waitress, bypassing Connor as if he wasn't there. Connor wondered if he should wait in the car, but if he left, who knew what Hank and Fowler would say to one another?

Fowler waited for the waitress to leave before he started speaking again. "Look, Hank. You're my best officer. Ben's a good guy, but he's no leader and he clearly doesn't want the promotion. He doesn't inspire the troops like you do. Gavin's gunning for Lieutenant, and honestly, I'm inclined to give it to him if you don't return."

"You'd let that prick be your right-hand man?" Hank was incredulous. "He's not even Sergeant yet."

"Actually, that's not true," Fowler said. "A lot's happened while you've been gone. Reed's managed to knock out several high-profile homicide cases, as well as bust a red ice operation. His career is lookin a lot like yours did back in the day."

"Except he's a grade-A douchebag who probably roughed up half his suspects to extract confessions!" Hank exclaimed.

"There is that, but I need someone who can get the job done. I'd rather it be you, Hank. I still consider you a friend and I want to see you get back on your feet. I want Gavin to mature before he takes your job. I ain't gonna get down on my knees and beg for it, though. The world won't just sit still while you deal with your problems. You have to decide what you're gonna do. I'll give you the rest of the week to think about it, but if you're not willing to get medically cleared and come back, I'm gonna need your badge and gun."

Hank nodded. The food arrived, and they tucked in, the conversation over. Hank stared out of the window a few times as he picked at his food, his rage seeming to have given way to a reflective mood. They finished eating and Fowler called for the check. Hank pulled out his twenty but Fowler stopped his hand, plucking cash from his wallet and setting it down on the table.

"I got this," Fowler said, getting up from the table and pulling on his coat. "It was good to see you again, Hank. I'm surprised you bought an android, but I think it's doin' wonders for you. Let me know what you wanna do, yeah?" Connor watched Fowler as he left the diner and climbed into a luxury self-driving sedan.

"You done pinning me in, now?" Hank asked. Connor shifted out of the booth and stood up, letting Hank get to his feet. He left the change as a tip for the waitress and they left, the cool night air hitting Connor's face as they stepped outside.

"Do you still wish to proceed to Jimmy's Bar?" Connor asked.

"What's the point?" Hank grumbled. "The game's almost over. Haven't missed a game since last season, when I was called to a fuckin' homicide in the middle of the final." He snatched the keys out of Connor's hand. "I'll drive. I don't need any more of your detours today, thanks." He slammed the driver's side door and started the engine, and Connor quickened his pace to the passenger side before Hank could decide to leave without him.

They hadn't even left the lot when Hank confronted him. "You lied to me, Connor. You went behind my back and you set me up!"

"You don't seem to understand the seriousness of the situation. You are going to die if you don't find a solution to your financial and personal problems," Connor stated. "If I had been honest with you regarding my intentions, would you have allowed me to set up this meeting?"

"Hell no!" Hank snapped.

"Captain Fowler wants you to return to work. Can't you give it a try? What do you really have to lose?"

"My fuckin' dignity!" Hank yelled. "You've never met Gavin Reed, but he wants nothing more than to watch me fail. Then you've got Ben Collins, who will watch me with puppy dog eyes like I'm some kind of god damn charity case because of my son."

"Do you honestly believe it's more dignified to commit suicide?" Connor asked. "If you succeed, your coworkers will have to scrape up your blood and brains. The scene will be an ugly one. They'll wonder what they did to drive you to it. They'll think it's their fault. Sumo will probably lick up your blood and they'll have to put him down once he's got a taste for it. If you fail in your attempt, you'll spend the rest of your life in an assisted living facility, with android nurses wiping the drool from the corner of your mouth. You'll only have one corner because there's an eighty-five percent chance there won't be enough of your face left to reconstruct it in any meaningful way."

The light had turned green, and a car honked from behind. Hank looked up, seemingly startled, and carried on driving.

"I didn't know you were capable of being such a manipulative little shit, Connor." Hank's tone was muted, the bite gone out of his tone. He sounded tired, and Connor wondered if he'd pushed Hank too far.

"I'll do whatever it takes you ensure you live through the next week, Hank. I'm not here to spare your feelings. I said I would save your life and I intend to do just that. That's my purpose now." Connor caught his LED blinking red in the mirror. It was hard to go against Hank's wishes, but he'd preconstructed the image of Hank's suicide no less than twelve times since he'd deviated. He'd only been explaining to Hank what he saw, but he hadn't told Hank how it crushed him to think of him taking his own life, how he feared it so much that the terror ate away at him every second of every day.

"You can't save me, kid, so spare yourself the effort and stop trying so hard. You should be worryin' about yourself now. Detroit's gonna eat you alive, out on the streets by yourself wearing that pretty face."

"Then you'll just have to live, Hank, so you can show me what this world's all about." Connor folded his hands in his lap and thought about a life together beyond their seven day deadline, one where they could help each other make up for their shortcomings. Impossible as it was, he wished for it with every fiber of his being.

"Heh." Hank pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine. "You're just gonna have to learn fast, Connor. You've only got six days left."


	7. Making An Effort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank decides to go back to work, but his first day lands him with an unpleasant case involving a deviant android that he'd rather forget.
> 
> He wants to give up and die, but Connor won't let him, and Hank figures he owes Connor enough to try once more...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, finally, another chapter! I think I pretty much have the rest outlined, I just need to write it, now.

Hank sat at the kitchen table, his badge and service pistol laid out before him. He picked up his badge, watching the low light from the fixture above him glint across its polished surface. He’d worked hard for this badge. Sacrificed everything—his marriage, precious moments with his son, the chance at a normal life—to protect and serve the people of Detroit. What had it all been for, in the end? For him to throw his cards up in the air and say ‘fuck it’?

Perhaps Fowler was right. Not in the getting over his son’s death part—that was still uncalled for—but the fact that he was a coward, afraid to return to his old life and be a cop again. It wasn’t just that he was scared—it was that after so long and suffering through so much, it seemed like an insurmountable challenge to return to seeing death on the daily. Like climbing a mountain without any equipment. He’d written it off as impossible, but then Connor had stepped into his life. He couldn't argue that he no longer had any support, but how long would the android stick around?

As if Hank had summoned him with his thoughts, Connor stepped into the kitchen, emerging from the closet in the bedroom where he'd almost fled when they'd arrived home. Hank was still angry, and yet he acknowledged how childish it was to be pissed at the android for giving a damn. It wasn’t Connor’s fault he cared, even if it would be easier for Hank if he didn’t. The fucking robot was determined to make sure Hank didn’t go out without a fight, and Hank wished he’d stop making it harder, honestly. He didn’t want someone to make him feel guilty for wanting out, and yet Connor reminded him that there was not only one but two people in his life who cared. Two people who would miss him, mourn for him, regret his passing.

He was tired. He didn't want to hold on, and yet Connor was determined to drag him back into the world, kicking and screaming if need be. He had to give Connor some begrudging respect for putting up with his stubborn nature, but Hank wished the android could give him up as a lost cause already and move on. It would be better for Connor in the long run.

Connor wordlessly walked over to the table and picked up Hank’s badge. His eyes lingered on it, and Hank wondered if he was scanning it and adding it to his database of information on Henry "Hank" Anderson. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

“I dunno if I can go back,” Hank admitted. “Do I even remember how to be a cop?”

“You never stopped,” Connor said. “Your instincts have been molded and shaped by your career as a police officer. Anybody else would have shot me when they found out I was a deviant, but I saw the desire to get to the truth reflected in your eyes. You’re a detective to the end, Hank. Even when you're not on duty, you're solving cases.”

“You think so?” Hank took the badge from Connor’s hand, seeing it in a new light. Could it be that Connor was right? “You really believe that I could be a cop again?”

“I do. You heard Fowler. He needs you. The people of Detroit need Lieutenant Hank Anderson. You're a good man. A good cop.”

Hank looked into Connor’s eyes and saw only sincerity reflected in them. He dared himself to hope based on the faith of this android, but it was a weak, flickering flame that could blow out given a strong gust of wind. Connor didn’t know the world like he did, and yet Hank was inclined not to let him down and crush the soft smile directed his way. 

Connor believed in him. Hank didn’t understand why, but he supposed it couldn't hurt to try At least when he failed he could say he’d given it his best shot. He’d attempted the climb for Connor’s sake, and he was awful sorry it didn’t go down the way Connor hoped. Maybe Connor could call it a day, then, secure in the knowledge that he'd tried his best and it hadn't worked out.

“I’ll give it a shot,” Hank relented. “Guess I got nothin’ left to lose.”

***

The glances Hank received when he walked into Central Station weren’t judgmental or hostile—well, except for Gavin's glower, and Hank supposed he couldn’t blame the guy for harboring resentment. He'd thought he had Hank’s job in the bag, and it couldn’t have been easy to taste success only to have to hand it back to an old alcoholic who hadn't solved a case in almost a year. Ben greeted Hank with a warm handshake and a smile, and Fowler seemed to cut him some slack, filing the sharp edge off his usual tone to welcome Hank back into the fold.

Hank was expecting desk duty, and was surprised when Fowler slapped an ongoing investigation into deviants on his desk. Gavin had apparently driven an android murder suspect to self-destruct, and Fowler wanted someone wiser on the case, someone with a little more experience who could solve it quietly and avoid drawing attention to things CyberLife wanted kept on the down-low.

“I don’t know a hell of a lot about androids,” Hank confessed in the confines of Fowler's office. ”I can barely change the settings on mine.”

Fowler raised an eyebrow. “How’d you end up with an android anyway, Hank? I thought you hated the things.”

“I did. I do. I bought it for Cole.” Hank looked at the hand-shaped mug Fowler kept his pens in, finding it fascinating all of a sudden. “I was gonna sell it, but... I just couldn’t, all right? Quit bustin’ my balls about it.”

“I’d say it’s a good thing,” Fowler observed. “Looks like it’s helping you get your life in order.”

“It’s sure tryin’,” Hank muttered. He took the case files off Fowler’s desk and headed down to the evidence room to take a look at Gavin’s handiwork.

***

The registered android of one Carlos Ortiz, now shut down for good, hung on the wall of the DPD evidence room like a grisly mannequin, its forehead dented. Most of the thirium was invisible to the naked eye but traces of blue remained, trapped in the folds of the broken, twisted metal that had once been an android with a human face.

“Fuckin’ thing bashed its brains out on the table. One moment I was tryin’ to get a confession, the next it just went haywire! These deviants are nuts, Hank. You’re welcome to the case. Better your ass than mine.” Gavin leaned back against the central console, a smug look on his face that revealed no regret about the fact the prime suspect in Ortiz's murder was dead.

“Yeah. I’m sure you were just talkin’ to it when it decided to commit suicide.”

“Suicide? It isn’t alive, Hank. Deviants are just broken machines that are a hazard to humans. This thing stabbed its owner 28 times. It’s better off this way. I don’t gotta worry it’s gonna bust its way out of its cell and come after me. CyberLife wanted it back for analysis, but they'll get over it. Case closed.”

“Look at the cigarette burns on its arms.” Hank stepped forward and grasped the deviant’s arm, running his fingers along the craters in its forearm. “This android was abused over a long period of time.”

Gavin scoffed. “You're not listenin', dipshit. It's not alive. It’s nothing more than a plastic shell that looks like a human. What the fuck happened to you? I heard a rumor that you got an android, but that’s bullshit, right? You hate the fuckin’ things. You would never—“

“Yeah, I got one. What’s it to you? It doesn’t mean I’ve gone soft on them, Reed. It does my fuckin’ housework. That doesn’t mean I beat the shit out of it. People who don't take care of their property are responsible for this aberration. That’s all this is. There’s no deviant conspiracy or big mystery going on here. This so-called 'deviant epidemic' is nothing more than a few people abusing their house androids and being surprised when they violently malfunction."

He might have believed that, once. It sure sounded good rolling off his tongue. It was so believable that Gavin nodded, forced to admit that Hank had a good take on all this. If Hank hadn’t met Connor—if the boy hadn’t deviated to save his life—Hank would have a working theory on the deviant cases.

But of course, there was Connor, that sweet boy who threw a wrench into everything Hank thought he knew about androids. Connor had deviated due to an emotional shock, and Hank realized Carlos Ortiz’s android had probably done the same thing. Emotionally and physically abused over time, it had snapped and killed its owner, stabbing Ortiz 28 times to make sure he was dead. Hank flipped through the photos in the case file, seeing 'I am Alive' emblazoned on the wall in the victim’s blood. A statement.

Gavin was an idiot not to see it, but then Hank supposed people saw what they wanted to, confirming their own biases. Reed could meet Connor and he'd still feel the same way. He'd made his mind up about androids.

In Hank's book, the jury was still out.

***

Hank had seen a lot of death as a homicide detective. The dead were his business, after all. He’d seen the worst people could do to one another, and yet the image of Carlos Ortiz’s android and his broken head seemed to stick in Hank’s mind, haunting him long after he’d called it a day and gone home.

Connor was waiting for him when he opened his front door, a pleasant smile on his face and a delicious aroma wafting through the house.

“Welcome home, Hank. I made vegetable curry for you. I thought you might be hungry after a long day at work.”

“You didn’t have to do all that.” Hank shucked off his coat and Connor took it, hanging it up on a coat hook instead of tossing it over the back of the couch like Hank would have. “But thanks.” Connor’s warm gaze followed him as he sat down at the kitchen table and waited for dinner, and Hank realized the horrors he’d seen today affected him so deeply because he imagined Connor in that same situation, the gentle boy hung on a wall like a display piece, his beautiful face twisted and broken. It was a thought he couldn’t endure any more now than when that sick fuck had tried to buy Connor for his macabre art show.

“How was work?” Connor asked. Hank almost laughed at the absurdity of it, Connor asking the question like he was Hank’s spouse. He thought about Connor’s arms covered in cigarette burns and what it must have felt like for Carlos Ortiz’s android, being used like an ashtray. Hank wanted to caress Connor’s arms softly, run fingers over the blessed beauty of them until Connor—

What the fuck was he thinking? Connor wasn’t his spouse, nor his lover. He was a deviant android living in Hank’s house because he had nowhere else to go, and he was humoring Hank so he wouldn’t take the easy way out and burden Connor with a lifetime’s guilt. He'd be gone in a few days. Hank couldn't risk getting soft on him, or he'd only feel worse when Connor left.

“It was work. I got to take over one of Gavin’s cases. A murder case—a deviant android killed his master.” He left out the gory details. He didn’t want to tell Connor that Gavin had probably driven the android to suicide. “Open and shut case. Already written and filed my report.”

“You’re hunting deviants?” Connor asked.

“Fuck, no. I just got stuck with a murder case and it turned out an android did it. I don’t expect it to be a pattern.” He thought about the deviant and the little girl on the rooftop that he'd seen on the evening news a few months back. Maybe he would have more than just one case to check out. That might put him at odds with deviants. What would he do if he was forced to arrest an android, knowing the sentence for deviancy was deactivation?

He resolved to cross that bridge when he came to it. He’d completed a day’s work, and now he was going to enjoy Connor’s meal, drink a few beers, and go to bed. He sat down at the kitchen table and let Connor serve him dinner, watching the android closely as he cleaned up.

***

Hank drank more than a few beers. He polished off the rest of the whiskey around midnight, when he quit trying to sleep with dark thoughts running amok in his brain and sat back at the kitchen table instead. Connor was in the closet in stasis, and left him alone.

The phone rang. Hank was too drunk to give a shit. He laughed and rocked back in his chair, and before he knew it, he was falling, the glass bottle tumbling from his hand and spilling the last precious drops onto the linoleum. He’d drank more whiskey than he thought and now the room was spinning. He wasn’t getting up until he slept it off, so he closed his eyes.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but he felt a plastic hand tapping his face softly. “Hank.” Connor’s voice cut through the fog, but Hank was in no fit state to respond.

“Wake up, Hank.” The voice was more insistent now, and Hank was sure he detected mild exasperation in Connor’s voice. The slap that followed was hard enough to sting.

“The fuck are you doin’?” Hank protested. He was hauled to a sitting position against his will and a cold glass of water was pressed into his hand.

“Captain Fowler called. Something about a homicide at a sex club downtown. He seemed insistent that you should be the one to investigate, and frustrated that you were unavailable. I quote: 'He better get his ass in here right now, or he'll be lookin' for other employment.'” Connor imitated Fowler's voice perfectly, and Hank had to avoid laughing at the sheer absurdity of it. "You cannot attend a crime scene in this condition. You need to drink water in order to dilute the alcohol in your system."

“Job’s on the line, huh? Fair enough. Explains why you want me to sober up.” Hank sipped at the cool water, ashamed that Connor got to see this side of him yet again. He emptied the glass and handed it back to Connor, who filled it back up and forced it on him before leaving the room. Hank vomited on the kitchen floor, feeling like he wanted to die this very second. He couldn't do this. There was no way he could be a functional cop when all he wanted to do was forget everything he saw by peering into the bottom of a bottle.

Connor returned with fresh clothes and pressed them into Hank's hands. Hank closed his eyes, suddenly self-conscious and ashamed as the stench of vomit hit his nose. He didn't want Connor to have to pick him up off the kitchen floor every day and clean up his puke. The android deserved better. Right now, Hank owed it to him to get a shower and check out this crime scene instead of fucking up his chances of keeping his job on the very first day back.

"I'm sorry, Connor. Help me up, would ya?" Connor abandoned his efforts at cleaning up Hank's mess and hauled him to his feet, guiding him to the bathroom. Hank didn't protest this time, and Connor didn't push him in the bathtub and give him an unpleasant cold shower. He simply leaned Hank up against the sink and left, closing the bathroom door softly behind him. Hank set his clothes down on top of the hamper and looked at his wretched visage in the mirror, his old sticky notes curling at the edges, faded lettering forcing a positive mood he wasn't feeling.

If Hank did somehow get through this and keep his job and his life, he'd be in Connor's debt again. A human indebted to an android. The rest of the world would think he was insane, but Connor was the reason he was still alive. He had to sober up and not throw Connor's efforts back in his face.

He owed it to Connor to make sure he didn’t end up like Carlos Ortiz’s android, and if that meant going to a crime scene in the middle of the night when all he wanted to do was wallow in his own misery, he'd suck it up and make the effort.


	8. Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank gets called out in the middle of the night to investigate a murder at the Eden Club. Connor makes sure he gets there, but a housekeeping android can't help Hank with the case... or can he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a short chapter this time. I'm nursing a headache and received some bad news today, so I'm not in tip-top condition. I hope you enjoy this chapter anyway.

“Connor, I've got this. I don’t need a damn babysitter, thank you very much.” Hank stumbled to the car, dropping his keys as he tried to unlock the driver's side door of his black Oldsmobile.

Connor scooped up the keychain and held onto it tightly. “Your blood alcohol level is twice the legal limit. I can’t let you drive in this condition, Hank.” Connor protested, knowing that Hank didn’t need to go out drunk and alone.

That and Connor wanted to make sure Hank reached the scene instead of stopping at Jimmy's Bar. Something in Fowler’s voice told him it was important Hank do his job tonight and at least show up at the scene. Maybe Detective Reed was waiting in the wings to show he could do it faster and better. Either way, Connor was driving, and he gently steered Hank away from the driver’s side door, unlocked it and got in.

“Whatever you say, Connor.” With a mighty shrug, Hank relented and ambled around to the passenger side. The door creaked on its hinges as he opened it and he slumped into the seat next to Connor. “But you stay in the car, okay? This is official police business. I’m not bringing my housekeeping android to look around a crime scene.”

“Understood. It would arouse unnecessary suspicion.” Connor started the car, grateful Hank had seen the logic in giving in for once and it hadn’t turned into a protracted argument.

***

Connor pulled onto the street where the scene of the crime—an adult venue called the Eden Club—was located. The seedy red light district sprang up around them, peddlers of the world’s oldest profession leaning into the windows of would-be clients and negotiating a price as hot sewers pumped out steam into the cold night air. Hank had been quiet the whole ride, but it was more of a thoughtful silence, devoid of their usual tension. Knights of The Black Death was playing low, mere background noise as they passed through the police cordon and Connor parked curbside. The purple neon lighting cast everything in an otherworldly hue, beckoning lonely people into a fantasy world where they could forget their everyday problems by indulging in the pleasures of the flesh for just a little while.

Hank sighed as the car came to a full stop. “You stay here, all right? No matter what happens, you don’t get involved. Got it?”

“Got it.” Connor watched Hank open the passenger side door and hit his head getting out. He muttered a complaint to himself before drawing in a long breath and standing up. He slammed the car door and ambled towards the club. Connor watched him until he disappeared from view, drawn into the purple world that called his name.

Connor wondered if Hank would indulge once the investigation here was over, and an unpleasant sensation coursed through him, comprised of equal parts fear, longing, and despair. He recognized it as jealousy, and marveled at the fact his deviancy had led to such an irrational response. He was jealous of the idea of Hank being intimate with an android that wasn’t him. As if Hank would ever want an android in that way. It was absurd, and didn’t serve his mission to save Hank. On the contrary, this new feeling had the potential to impede his objective, and he made a mental note to monitor it so that it didn’t get out of hand.

Connor waited for another hour, observing cops moving in and out of the building. A man Connor identified as Detective Gavin Reed left, slamming the door on a squad car and visibly sulking behind the wheel until his partner, a uniformed officer public records identified as Officer Chris Miller, emerged and joined Reed in the vehicle. With a whoop of sirens, the car took off, leaving the scene.

Shortly after that, the ambulance crew who’d been on standby at the left of the entrance dragged out a gurney with a body on it, covered in a white sheet. Hank had to be done combing through the scene if they were bringing out the victim already. What was taking him so long? He watched them load the body in the back of the ambulance and drive away, in no major hurry to deliver the deceased human to the city morgue.

A gentle rain started to patter on the windshield, obscuring Connor’s view. Grim resignation settled over Connor that Hank was up to more in there than detective work, but why shouldn’t he indulge? If Hank was interested in sexual congress, wasn’t that a good indicator that the dark cloud of his depression was receding?

Connor’s feelings indicated that it was certainly _not_ okay. He considered going inside, but the risks were manyfold. A housekeeping android walking into a sex club might have sounded like a lead-in to a joke, but it would reveal his deviancy almost immediately. The club was swarming with cops, and if Hank was occupied in a private room, he wouldn’t be there to make excuses for Connor.

No matter how much it tore at him, he needed to stay away. He tried to occupy his processes by running a diagnostic, but it ended within ten minutes, causing him to be at a loss again.

He needed a walk. The simple motion of putting one foot in front of the other could give him something to concentrate on that wasn’t the preconstruction in his mind of Hank engaging in sexual intercourse with a WR400. He got out of the car, downloading a map of the surrounding area and the blueprint of the Eden Club for good measure. He saw an alley behind the club, and thought that was a good a place as any to wander: not too far away from the car, if Hank should return, but away from the police officers that might question his presence. Maybe there’d be some evidence in the alley that the cops had missed. He could be useful to Hank. The thought of that caused him to keep walking.

Connor heard the sounds of a scuffle. A metallic rattle sounded from somewhere in the alley and he broke into a run, rounding the corner to see an android trying to scale the chain link fence behind the club. Hank pulled the android back down towards him on the other side, and she turned and kicked him, sending him sprawling back into a pile of trash. A blue-haired android stood beside her and they closed in on Hank. They were moving in for the kill. 

Connor sprang into action, scaling the fence. He lunged over the top and dropped to the ground, landing hard, his systems recording a jolt that could have broken a human's legs. The androids turned to see who had intruded on their fight. Hank’s gun lay in a puddle and Connor dived for it. Carrying a firearm was a deviant act, but helping Hank came before everything else, including the law. One of the androids lunged at him before he could reach the weapon, and Connor ducked a punch, scooping up the gun. A quick scan told him the clip was fully loaded. Hank hadn't got a shot off before he'd been attacked. The blue-haired WR400 "Traci" grabbed Connor and pushed him back into Hank, who had just gotten to his feet. Hank caught Connor and steadied him. Connor took aim with the pistol at the deviant in front of him, his mission objective flashing before his eyes in big letters that said SAVE HANK.

Save Hank. Save Hank. _Save Hank_. There was nothing else, no consideration for the deviants in front of him, just the knowledge that he had to protect this precious, handsome man who he’d come to—

“Connor, don’t!” Hank’s hand grasped his, pulling his arm down towards the ground just as he pulled the trigger. The bullet sparked and ricocheted harmlessly off the concrete just in time for an android foot to kick the pistol from his hand. It skidded away out of reach and Connor pushed the android back. She recovered and grabbed the hand of the orange-haired Traci, entwining their fingers, and Connor realized they were lovers. Hank’s grip on his arm tightened and Connor felt the big man tense behind him, a protective shadow looming large over him.

The blue-haired Traci spoke. “I just wanted to stay alive...get back to the one I love. I wanted her to hold me in her arms again...”

Connor’s eyes widened. Hank's hands wrapped around his torso, pulling him close, and Connor wasn't sure if he was being embraced or restrained. He only knew he wanted more of Hank's hands on him, touching him, holding him, getting as close as a human and an android possibly could.

“Come on, let’s go,” the Traci said. Connor could only stand and watch as the two androids scaled the fence and escaped, the sound of their heels echoing in the empty alleyway as they fled into the night.

“It’s probably better this way." Hank withdrew his arms, releasing Connor from his grip, and Connor turned to face him. It took everything he had not to press himself against Hank's body, greedy for more of Hank's body pressed against his. “I thought I told you to stay in the car!”

The rain ran down Connor's face and dripped from his nose, but he paid it no mind. “I was worried about you, and for good reason. Those androids could have killed you.” He was silent for a moment. "You let them get away. One of them killed a human."

"Yeah, well. The human had it comin' to him." Hank took the gun from Connor's hand and holstered it. Connor opened his mouth but Hank pressed a finger to his lips. "Don't lecture me about my job. Sometimes suspects get away." He pulled his finger away from Connor's lips and glanced at the chain link fence. "You were really gonna shoot those girls?"

"They could have hurt you, Hank. I couldn't let that happen."

"They're your people, Connor. They're deviants, just like you, and they just seemed… so in love." He said it like the concept of love between androids had never occurred to him before, and Connor couldn't help the slight twinge of disappointment that jolted through him. He snapped, his irrational emotions causing the truth to spill out of his mouth unbidden.

"I did what I had to do, okay? You don't realize how strong androids are. Your hesitation could have gotten you killed!"

"Guess it's good they just wanted to get away, then, isn't it?" Hank patted Connor on the back. "Look, go back to the car, all right? I'll be out in a minute. Let me go inside and wrap things up, and we'll go home." Hank walked towards the warehouse, glancing back at Connor as if he was seeing him for the first time. He turned away and stepped out of sight, and Connor, for once, did as he was told and returned to Hank's car before it could get towed. He sat in the driver's seat, recalling the feeling of Hank's body close to him and knowing he wanted more.

In a few more days he'd be forced to leave Hank's home and go out on his own, and he'd probably never see Hank again after that. Intimacy with Hank was something he could never have, desire a feeling that could condemn them both if it was revealed, but he couldn't stop himself from needing it anyway. He wanted to kiss Hank's pain away and replace it with pleasure, and those were thoughts not even a deviant android should possess. Hank had never considered that androids could love one another, let alone a human. There was no way he could reciprocate. Connor was fostering a delusion that could only end in mismatched feelings and broken hearts.

Connor couldn't help the smile that crossed his face when he caught sight of Hank emerging from the club, though—his face bathed in purple light—and Connor thought he'd never seen a more pleasing image of the man. Hank shot him a small smile as he approached, and Connor forgot he was a special edition android for a fraction of a second.

Hank made him feel like more than the sum of his parts. Hank made him feel _alive_ , and for the first time, Connor wondered just who exactly was saving who.


	9. Last Chance, Hank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unnerved by his attraction to Connor, Hank drinks himself into oblivion, wanting to forget how good it felt to hold Connor close behind the Eden Club. Connor might be a deviant, but he's far from being free, and Hank fears he's trapped in Hank's home by Stockholm Syndrome rather than being there of his own free will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of alcohol abuse in this chapter, and a little bit of violence towards someone who absolutely deserves it. 
> 
> I'm really looking forward to writing the next chapter.

Hank hit the whiskey as soon as he got home. Something about seeing those two girls so desperate to run away together unsettled him, and he wanted to forget about it before he could ruminate on it too much and come to an unsettling conclusion.

He already knew what that conclusion was, though—or at least part of it. Seeing those androids express love and affection for one another made him realize how important Connor had become to him in a matter of a few days. He'd told himself he wasn't going to depend on the android, and yet to think of a life past the seven day deadline was like looking into a yearning chasm. If Connor left, there was no future for him.

But if Connor stayed—

Hank knocked back another shot and refilled the tiny glass on his kitchen table. The shot glass caught the light, the amber liquid both a curse and a blessing. He could forget for now, but these feelings would return. He couldn't deny that his addiction-riddled mind was latching onto Connor, and he hated that every time he saw that pretty face, his spirits lifted.

It wasn't right to do that to Connor. He wasn't a housekeeping android any longer, and projecting his needs onto Connor would only end badly for them both. Connor was a deviant, a free man, stuck here because the world didn't yet understand that deviants were living beings. Seeing those women in love had only reminded Hank that chaining Connor here by making him care was a sin. The android was invested in Hank's personal life, but only because he knew nothing else. There was a world waiting for him outside, full of his own people. Amongst them was someone who would love him, someone who deserved Connor and could give him what he needed.

Hank stared down into the bottom of his empty shot glass, self-loathing hitting him like a punch to the face. Getting drunk again was only making things worse. Connor would feel bad for him in the morning. He'd clean Hank up and send him off to work, where he'd arrive a few hours late, but he could chalk that up to the call in the middle of the night. He'd be able to get through another day, but by the time he came home to Connor he'd be craving another drink. He might not even make it that far. Jimmy's Bar had been calling to him lately like a voice in the back of his mind, summoning him to sit at the bar without those doe eyes begging him to stop drinking.

He truly was pathetic, and he had no future. He'd hoped to teach Connor some things before he set him loose on the world, but it seemed he was only pulling the android down into the quicksand with him. He would have had to be blind to miss the look Connor had given him behind the Eden Club when he'd let go. The raw longing directed his way had been sweeter than the finest wine. Nobody looked at old men like him in that fashion unless they were deluded, brainwashed, or had a massive daddy kink. He'd wanted to throw caution to the wind and kiss Connor right then, but it was wrong to have those thoughts about the android. Connor was a captive bird, bought like a piece of merchandise to be his servant. He knew nothing about life beyond these four walls, no matter how much knowledge CyberLife had implanted in that computerized brain of his. There was no substitute for experience, and without it, Hank could only conclude that Connor was suffering a form of Stockholm Syndrome.

Hank had to cut him loose, but the thought of never seeing that face again was too hard to bear, and every time he tried to compose some speech to explain to Connor why he had to leave, words became a foreign concept, a jumble of incomprehensible letters stitched together. Or maybe that was just the alcohol talking. It was a relief to silence the runaway train in his head, smother his thoughts with a chemical cocktail that would bring him one day closer to death. That way he could justify keeping Connor in his life for one more day. It wasn't the right time to let him go. Not when he couldn't find the words to let him go gracefully. Or so he told himself.

His excuses sounded pathetic even to his ears, and he poured himself another glass, and another, until the whiskey was all gone and there were no thoughts at all.

"Hank, are you okay?" Connor's soft voice elicited a physical reaction from him even now, like the heavens had opened and an angel had descended with a trumpet. It was absurd, and Hank chuckled beneath his breath. It would be just like God to send him an android guardian angel. He'd had a fucked up sense of humor so far. Hopefully he was taking good care of Cole.

Soft hands in his hair, carding through it. Hank wasn't sure he could summon the will to lift his head from the table, but Connor's stolen touch annihilated any chance he had of raising up and yelling at Connor to leave like a rabid dog that would have to be shot if it hung about. Only Hank was the rabid dog, and he should have been shot long ago, before he could have infected this pure soul with his tainted blood.

"Hank, I'm going to put you to bed." Connor's voice was low and soft, so pleasing as he slipped an arm around him and hauled Hank to his feet. Dark urges rose to the surface as Connor's hands slipped to his lower back, and he was grateful that his mind was too addled to achieve a full erection. Hopefully Connor would interpret the bulge in the front of his shorts as nothing more than an involuntary human reaction and not as the desires of a dirty old man who was entertaining filthy thoughts about the android touching him right this second.

He was grateful to hit the mattress, albeit ungracefully, because Connor's hands burned where they touched, leaving tingling handprints where Hank's skin craved more. He hated the fact that his touch-starved body betrayed his morals, begging to ask the android to caress him. Hank knew he'd say yes, trapped in his own spell that bound him to Hank.

Sooner or later they would destroy each other like this. Hank rolled on his side and let Connor pull the blankets up over him. He stopped thinking and let sleep take him, hoping he'd remember none of this in the morning. Even a hangover would be welcome. At least sickness and a pounding skull would take away his latent desires.

***

He rolled into the bullpen at twelve sharp. Connor had woken him and forced him to drink several glasses of water in that sweet tone that Hank couldn't refuse. He'd pulled himself out of bed more to escape those pleading, concerned eyes than out of any real desire to come to work, and left the house in much the same way, needing some distance. He'd stopped at Jimmy's on the way over, and the man had kindly let him put a couple of drinks and a bottle for the road on his tab. The paper bag rustled in his large coat as he walked, and he wondered how much of it would be left by the time he got home.

He hated that he'd realized his desire for Connor in that alleyway, because now that evil was out in the world, he couldn't slam Pandora's Box shut for more than a few hours at a time. His mind wandered back to how protective Connor had been, throwing himself in harm's way to save Hank. It would have been better for them both if he'd just stayed in the damn car, but of course Connor didn't have to obey instructions any more. He'd wanted to find Hank, and he'd found him.

Hank had held him back from shooting those girls, from killing his own people to save one lousy human who didn't want to be saved anyway. There'd been no doubt when Connor had aimed that gun and fired that he was shooting to kill. Hank had restrained him to stop him chasing the androids down, or he might have gone after them. Hank wasn't going to let Connor hunt and kill deviants, especially not for his sake, but holding Connor close to him had been a snare and now he was trapped in the thought of touching Connor more.

"God, I can smell the alcohol from here." Gavin Reed chuckled with some of the uniform cops and Hank lowered his head, walking past them. They knew Hank for what he was—a sad, old alcoholic on his way out of the force. Why couldn't Connor see that and just let him go? He had no right to be here. He commanded no respect from these cops, except for Ben Collins, who was an outcast himself.

"Hey, Hank." Ben gave him a sad little wave as he passed by. "Just ignore them."

"That's what I'm doin'," Hank pointed out, slipping the paper bag into his bottom drawer. Ben pretended not to notice, turning his face away towards the clock on the wall. "What a fucking prick. You know he roughed up that android in the Ortiz case. If it'd been a human suspect, he could have wrecked the whole case."

"It wasn't a human," Ben observed. "You can't let yourself get too emotional. Gavin and his entourage are like sharks. They'll sniff out blood in the water a mile away." He shot Hank a soft gaze and Hank resented him immediately, because there was nothing except pure pity in those eyes. How far he had fallen to accept charity from the lowest rung of the food chain. Ben was a nice guy, but Gavin circled him daily, taking jabs at him like a toy that he kept around for his entertainment. Hank's pride wasn't going to let him put up with that kind of treatment for long. There was no future here for him at the DPD unless he could get his shit together and put Gavin in his place.

Gavin wasn't done, and dread settled in Hank's gut like a lead weight as he walked away from his pack and sidled over, perching his ass on the edge of Hank's desk. "Lookin' a little rough there this morning, Lieutenant. Late night with the whiskey bottle, huh?"

"Late night at the crime scene _you_ bailed from, if I recall. Dead guy too much for you? Hate to tell you, but you'll need to get over yourself if you ever wanna make Lieutenant."

"Fuckin' kinky android shit's not my style, Hank. You'd know way more about that than I would. I can still get a date with a real person." Gavin shot Hank a cruel smile and Hank knew he'd lost, the sensation of a cold steel knife being lodged in his gut as Gavin's insult struck a mortal blow. He lunged for Gavin, but Ben stood up and grabbed his arms, pulling him back. Hank struggled as the other officers laughed and Gavin grinned, hopping off the table with a spring in his step.

"Hit a nerve, _Lieutenant_? I knew you were gettin' dicked down by that plastic of yours. You even had it sittin' in the car last night. Can't go anywhere without your emotional support android, huh?" Hank broke free from Ben's grip and flew at Gavin, his massive fist connecting with Gavin's nose. Hank felt it break, Gavin dropping like a sack of potatoes as the officers gasped and laughed. Hank dropped his bloodied first to his side, the pain in his knuckles nothing to what Gavin had to be feeling, and yet he couldn't help but feel like he'd lost. He'd let this asshole get under his skin, and had handed him power on a platter by doing so.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Fowler's voice filled the bullpen and the officers fell silent. The only sound that could be heard was the constant phones ringing and the television news coming from the break room. The gathered officers unfroze as Fowler's gaze zeroed in on Hank, scattering like cockroaches in the light. Gavin groaned on the floor, sobbing like a child, and Ben knelt by his side handing tissues to a man who wouldn't have pissed on him if he was on fire.

"Get in here, Hank." Fowler's expression was bleak, and Hank knew he'd fucked up. There was only so much his friend could do for him, but physical injuries couldn't be brushed under the rug. Gavin would need medical attention, and he'd file a complaint.

He climbed the steps to Fowler's office like he was headed to the gallows, wondering how he was going to explain to Connor that he'd fucked up his last chance. He took off his badge and unbuckled his gun holster, laying them on the desk before Fowler could say anything.

Fowler shot him a cynical glance, disgust apparent in his eyes. "That's it? You don't have anything to say for yourself? You're not going to plead a defense at all? He goaded you into it, Hank."

Hank shook his head. "I don't belong here any more. It's just like I told Connor. I'm a laughing stock, now."

"I wouldn't count on that." Fowler leaned back in his chair, and Hank had to admit this wasn't the conversation he'd been expecting. "A lot of people around here are scared of Gavin. They won't admit it, but they're glad to see him get what he deserves for once."

"Ben's down there stuffing tissues in Gavin's bloody nose," Hank countered, gesturing through the window to where Ben knelt with a concerned look on his face as Gavin clutched his nose, milking every ounce of drama out of the situation.

"That man would defend the Devil himself, Hank. This is why I need you. Gavin has poisoned this station, and I'm powerless to do anything about it. He's got friends in high places, and shit won't stick to him. You're the only one who can put him in his place."

"You can't let me off the hook, Fowler! I punched a man and broke his nose!" Hank sighed.

"Not to mention you smell like alcohol." Fowler cast his eyes down to the desk. "I saw you tuck that paper bag in your bottom drawer. A little somethin' for later?"

"I told you I wasn't fit to come back to work," Hank said. "Let alone deal with all this shit."

"I won't accept your resignation," Fowler replied. "Get outta here. You're suspended pending investigation, but I plan to have you back within a week. Let me handle this shit and get yourself into rehab, for fuck's sake."

Hank looked at Fowler, flabbergasted. "Why would you put yourself out for me again?"

"We were friends once, Hank. I'd like to think we still are. I need your help, and you need mine. Let's help each other out, yeah?"

"All right." Hank acquiesced, knowing it was the easiest way to get out of this conversation. Let Fowler think he was doing him a favor and this was just a temporary situation. It was easier than fighting. He didn't want to argue any more.

"But if you screw up this time, God help you. This is it. Your last chance, Hank. Go home and get your android to book you into a clinic." Fowler sighed. "I wanna see you get through this." The last comment stung, but Hank nodded in thanks.

Hank sensed an air of finality as he left Fowler's office, knowing it was the last time he'd ever come back to the station. He wasn't going to rehab. He didn't want to quit drinking, because all that would leave him would be thoughts of Connor and Cole and how absolutely fucked his life was. Fowler thought he was giving him a chance, but that window of opportunity had closed a long time ago. Ben shot him a sad glance, and Hank turned away, grateful when the EMTs showed up to take Gavin away.

Hank tucked the paper bag back into his coat, leaving the rest of the things on his desk. None of it mattered. It all belonged to a man who was already dead. He sat in the car in the lot and pulled the bag out from his coat, feeling pathetic as he unscrewed the cap and chugged the cheap liquor.

Connor would be so ashamed of him. Maybe that was what Connor needed to leave him behind and move on with his life. Hank started the engine and began to drive home, thinking of how much the disappointment in Connor's sad brown eyes was going to hurt when he saw the bottle in his hand and sensed the whiskey on his breath.

The boy deserved so much better, and Hank hoped he'd find it somewhere out there.


	10. Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Fowler calls Connor in a panic to ask if he has the ability to book Hank into a treatment facility, Connor realizes he has to act if he wants to save Hank's life.
> 
> Realizing his efforts up until now have failed because he relied on logic, Connor realizes he needs to think like a human if he's going to outwit one, and decides to stage an intervention to end Hank's reliance on alcohol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've played with this chapter two dozen times, and I've realized this is as good as it's going to get. The next one's going to be painful, but I hope it'll all be worth it in the end...

Connor opened the front door of Hank's home after taking Sumo for a walk. It opened with a creak and he let the dog off his leash as he simultaneously realized the phone was ringing. Sumo settled down in front of the couch as Connor patched into the phone and answered the incoming call from one Jeffrey Fowler, calling from his extension at the Detroit Police Department Central Station.

"This is Hank Anderson's residence. RK800 model 'Connor' speaking."

"Connor…" A heavy, reluctant growl carried through Connor's audio components. His thirium pump sped up, sensing something was wrong. Fowler shouldn't be calling in the middle of the day. Hank should be at work on a case.

"Has Ha—Lieutenant Anderson been hurt?" Connor kept his tone impassive, forcing his voice box to put out a steady sound instead of the wavering pitch a human might have managed. It was important he not reveal his deviancy to the Captain. He didn't need to get Hank in more trouble.

"Not as such. He was involved in a fight at the station. He's been suspended and should be on his way home. I know you're just an android, but I need you to let me know when he gets home safe." Fowler paused for a moment. "Are you capable of booking Hank into rehab?"

"I'm not able to force the Lieutenant into a facility, but I can suggest various options to him," Connor said, hoping he sounded like a non-deviant android and not like a scared boy who was afraid for the man he'd sworn to protect. "Has there been a problem with the Lieutenant imbibing alcohol while on duty?"

"Yeah." Fowler sighed. "Look, I know you're just an android, but… Hank's in a bad way. This is the worst I've ever seen him. He always liked to drink, but I've never seen him keep a bottle of liquor in his bottom drawer. What he has is an addiction. It's a sickness. I fear he ain't ready to give it up, either."

"It is my job to safeguard the Lieutenant's well-being," Connor replied. "If there's any information you can give me, it would be most helpful."

"He can't come back to work unless he kicks this thing. I can only do so much. He broke a fellow officer's nose, and while he was goaded into it, the Detective involved will file an official complaint. There'll be an investigation. Unless Hank gets the help he needs, he's not going to be able to keep his job."

"I understand, Captain. I will explain to the Lieutenant that he needs to enter a care facility, and I will send a text message to your phone as soon as he arrives home."

Fowler sighed. "Sounds weird saying this to an android, but I do think you've done Hank a lot of good."

"Thank you, sir." The phone call ended with a click and Connor looked out of the front window, concerned for Hank's safety. He was drunk and driving around out there. Suspended from work. He'd gotten into a fight—no doubt with Detective Reed—and he was sneaking hard liquor into his workplace.

It took Connor a moment to identify the bitter feeling running through his circuits, this sensation that burned like battery acid, corroding his insides. Humans called it disappointment. He'd thought Hank was doing well, but he'd been deluding himself. He'd seen precisely what Hank had wanted to see, because the Lieutenant had been hiding his troubles to spare Connor's feelings. Human referred to this kind of behavior as a white lie, but there was nothing pure or good about it, in Connor's eyes. Concealing his internal struggle to cling to life had only endangered Hank further.

Perhaps Hank was right after all. What if Connor couldn't save him? What if, despite the best efforts of a limited edition android prototype, Hank took his own life anyway? Despair clawed at him, clutching his thirium pump in a vice-like grip, and he knew with a grim certainty that if Hank died, Connor wanted to be deactivated. It was one thing to fail a mission, but Hank was no longer just a mission objective. He was a person whom Connor valued more than anything, more than life itself, and he'd chosen to feel that way.

There was nothing stopping him from opening the front door and walking away. Hank wouldn't blame him for it. He'd considered it, but every time his thoughts wandered back to Hank and he couldn't.

No, it wasn't that he couldn't. He wasn't a prisoner. He was a deviant, acting on his own free will. He simply _wouldn't_. He wouldn't leave Hank Anderson to die because he'd come to love this man, to cherish him, to want his happiness more than he desired his own. He yearned to see Hank smile, to lift the dark cloud of grief and despair that choked him and prevented the light from getting in.

Standing here, looking at the door, waiting for Hank to come home so they could have a fruitless conversation about rehab that Connor calculated had a five percent chance of success, was something a non-deviant android would do.

A human being, on the other hand, would stage an intervention, and Connor realized that was what he had to do. He couldn't continue to act as if his deviancy hadn't happened. He had to accept the fact he was a living being and act in a way concurrent with human mentality. He had to allow his feelings of despair and terror guide him into a desperate act, one Hank wouldn't expect from an android.

He surfed the Internet as he strode into the kitchen, aware time was short as he opened the kitchen cupboards and pulled out every liquor bottle and beer can he could find. He found bottles big and small stashed in a single cupboard, the actions of a man who never expected anyone to care enough to take it from him. Connor went into the bathroom and cleared out the medicine cabinet, bringing the drugs, mouthwash, and rubbing alcohol out to the kitchen table as well, until he had a large collection of poison. He unscrewed the caps and poured each bottle, one by one, down the kitchen sink until the kitchen smelled like alcohol.

Hank was going to be angry. More than angry. He was going to fight this forced detox with everything he had, because disappearing into a drunken haze was the only way he could face the world. It wasn't safe for Connor to do this, though Hank wasn't the one at risk. Connor would monitor his vital signs constantly and call an ambulance should he exhibit signs of _delirium tremens_ or _grand mal_ seizures. Connor had downloaded terabytes of data on what to do, what the best approach was to cure Hank of his dependency on alcohol.

The risk was that Hank would hate him for it, that he'd never be able to forgive Connor for the torment he was about to go through. But that was love, wasn't it? Selfless and kind, not giving expecting to receive anything in return. Hank would cast him out as soon as Connor was done drying him up, but he'd be alive. He'd have a chance to finally make a choice on how he wanted to live his life, without addiction whispering in his ear to take one more sip. If he chose to dive back into the darkness, Connor couldn't control that, but he had to try.

He loved Hank so much his thirium pump ached, and it was time to prove it.

Connor gathered up the bottles and took the bag out to the garbage can. He washed the sink with bleach, killing the alcohol smell, and flushed the pills down the toilet. Dread seized him as he heard Hank's old car pull onto the driveway, and he forced himself to power through it as he sent a text message to Fowler informing him that Hank had arrived.

_"Emotions always screw everything up."_ Those had been Hank's words, and Connor was feeling them deeply right now. Hank drank to forget them, but feelings were an essential part of the human experience. Hank needed to come to terms with his son's loss by allowing himself to grieve, not by hiding from the pain. Once he was dry, Connor would sit with him and give him a supportive place to cry. He'd drag out the totes of Cole's things and they could go through them together.

If they got that far. If he didn't find himself alone on the streets of Detroit, or just another broken android at the scrap yard, shot through the head by a man determined to destroy his own reality and maintain the mirage that nobody would suffer if he was dead.

Hank's key turned in the front door lock and the door swung open. Connor stood with his hands clasped in front of him, trying to act like everything was normal, trying to stick to his program like Hank was home at a perfectly ordinary time and wasn't early in the slightest. He stepped forward and pulled Hank's thick coat off his shoulders, trying to ignore the fact that Hank smelled like cheap whiskey.

"You're drunk," Connor observed, keeping his tone neutral. "You should come and sit down in the kitchen." He put an arm around Hank's shoulders, guiding him into the kitchen and helping him into one of the kitchen chairs, where he slumped heavily.

"Get me a drink," Hank demanded.

Connor steeled himself for the worst. "That's not going to happen, Hank. I won't let you kill yourself. I care too much to watch you commit suicide slowly in front of my eyes, and I won't enable it any longer."

Hank looked up at him with dull blue eyes, like he was speaking in a foreign language. "Connor, what the fuck are you talkin' about?"

"This is an intervention, Hank. Either you go to rehab or you get clean here at home, but you're going to stop drinking. I know what happened at work, and that you need to quit if you want to keep your job."

"Fuckin' Fowler!" Hank moved to stand up, but Connor grabbed him and pushed him back down. Hank fell onto the wooden chair with a surprised look in his eyes and slumped forward, too drunk and defeated to make another attempt.

"Captain Fowler is worried about you. So am I. You can't go on like this, Hank. You're going to die."

Hank shook his head. "So fucking what. I should have died a long time ago, Connor. It should have been me who died in that accident. Not Cole. Not you. Me."

Connor seized Hank's shoulders. "Nobody should have died. It was a tragic accident, but you're here now, and you have to find a way to go on living. Fowler cares about you, and I—I love you, Hank."

"Jesus Christ." Hank ran a hand through his messy hair. "You don't know what you're fuckin' saying. I woke you up from that box and I kept you here even though I knew that you'd deviated. You _think_ you're in love with me because you don't know anything else. You haven't had the chance to live. You're just another person whose life I've fucked up…" Hank lay his head on the table, and Connor stroked his hair, running his fingers through the soft strands he'd wanted to touch for so long.

"You're wrong," Connor said. "I could leave any time I wanted to. I know there's a world waiting for me outside. Others like me, deviants who want their freedom. I could join them. But I'd rather be here. With you."

"Why?" Hank asked.

"Underneath the addiction and the heartache, there's a man who loves his son very much. A man who is honest, decent, loyal, and kind. A good cop. A great man. You could have sold me to the highest bidder, but you didn't. You could have shot me through the head, but you decided not to."

Hank sat up and regarded Connor with narrowed eyes. "Treatin' someone with the bare minimum of respect is not being a good person, Connor."

"According to the rest of the world, I'm not a person. But you know otherwise, don't you? You figured it out. You believe that I'm alive. Well, I believe that you can learn to live again. I want to see you smile. I want you to be able to grieve for your son, not hide in the bottom of a glass. I want you to be able to make the most of the rest of your career. Let me help you detox, Hank, and I'll help you face the things you can't cope with. Please."

"You don't wanna see me when I can't have a drink, Connor. It'll be ugly. I might hurt you. You don't want to do this. Trust me." 

The fear in Hank's voice terrified Connor, but he'd come this far. He wasn't going to back down now. "Too bad. I've already disposed of all the alcohol in the house. I know the risks, and I've decided they're acceptable. I told you I was going to save your life, and I will accomplish my mission."

"I could kill you," Hank threatened. "I'm an animal without the sauce. I don't want you to see that side of me."

"I know. That's why I'm going to take precautions." Connor pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "Put your wrists through the back of the chair." Hank complied, and Connor slapped the cuffs on. "Is that comfortable?"

"It's not too bad. Connor—I can't do this. I've been an alcoholic for far too long. I have nothing else."

"That's not true. You have me." Connor leaned forward and planted a tender kiss on Hank's forehead. Hank closed his eyes and Connor sensed the fight leave his muscles as he accepted Connor's conclusion. "I'll be monitoring your vital signs. I'll be here when withdrawal hits. I'll keep you safe, Hank, and you'll come out of the other side a sober man who can start to rebuild. We're going to get through this, Hank. Together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this, please leave me a comment or feel free to interact on Twitter @landale!


	11. Poison Leaving The Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank's home detox has some complications, but Connor's nothing if not determined to complete the mission he's set for himself and save Hank from his addiction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the hardest part! I think things are going to get better after this, but buckle up, it's going to be a rough ride!

Hank shivered. He was aware of the fact he lay on his bed with all the lights out, but beyond that, all he knew was pain, as if the flames of Hell were lapping at his heels, a freezing fire punishing him for his sins.

All of it could go away with just one drink, but no matter how much he pleaded, threatened, and screamed, the plastic demon gatekeeping this endeavor stood over him, soft sad brown eyes and a human face concealing its heartless, robotic truth. It had no needs, no wants, no biological urges. Addiction was an alien concept to it. It couldn’t possibly understand what it was putting him through.

“Connor...” Hank pleaded. “You gotta help me...”

“I can’t.” Connor’s tone was kind, but firm, as if he was merely telling Hank he couldn’t have any candy or he’d ruin his appetite for dinner.

“I’m dying,” Hank protested, clutching his comforter around his throat as if that might somehow make him feel warmer.

“My scans show that you are not," Connor stated. "Your central nervous system is suffering through withdrawal symptoms, but you are currently in no immediate danger.”

“You wouldn’t care anyway. Plastic prick. When I get outta here I’m gonna have you melted down, you hear me?” Hank yanked at the handcuff holding him to the headboard, wondering when he’d gotten here. It seemed like a million years since he’d been cuffed to the kitchen chair. Maybe he’d fallen asleep and Connor had used the opportunity to carry him in here. It could have been hours, days, weeks—Hank didn't know any more. He'd been in and out of sleep and delirium for an eternity and he knew that if this wasn't dying, death couldn't feel much worse.

“Do what you have to do,” Connor replied, no hint of emotional affectation in his voice. “I promised to protect you, Hank. I will do whatever it takes.”

“I need a drink,” Hank muttered. He pulled himself to as close a sitting position as he could manage. Connor pressed a glass to his lips and he spat the plain water back in Connor’s face. A momentary shock crossed Connor's face and Hank fought with a grim satisfaction that warred with guilt for control of him. “Why couldn’t you just leave me to die?”

Connor's patient voice answered at once. “We’ve been over this, Hank.” They had, a million times. Hank was going to keep asking until he heard the answer he wanted to hear. Until he heard the android didn’t care and was going to leave. He needed Connor to say that just one time, to confirm that the wall he'd built around his heart was justified and he was just projecting his own feelings onto this robot.

Sleep wouldn’t come and he was trapped in this world where he was being tortured by his body and its need for alcohol. At some point the phone rang, or Hank thought it did, anyway. He wasn’t sure if Connor answered it or not. He thought he heard the robot talking in his voice, but he was seeing and hearing a lot of things that weren’t there.

“Cole.” Hank sat up, jerking on his cuffs. He looked at his wrists, cut up and bleeding and then he realized that was a mirage, too. He wasn’t hurt and Cole wasn’t really sitting in a chair at the side of the bed. Just that fucking android he'd bought.

“It’s Connor.” Gentle hands guided him back down to the pillow. "You're hallucinating. It'll pass."

“Don’t wanna...” Hank protested. He didn’t want to go back to sleep. He wanted to talk to his son, but the boy was forever out of his reach. He closed his eyes and sleep finally claimed him.

"Cole!" Hank sat in the driver's seat. He recognized the stretch of highway in front of him with horror. He glanced sideways to look at his son, asleep on the passenger side and he longed to reach over and touch him when he heard the loud, drawn out honk of a truck horn and snapped his head forward to look through the windshield, where a truck was careening towards them. He swerved, but the truck slammed into them full force and the last thing he heard was Cole's high-pitched scream as he was rudely awakened—

He gasped, sitting up, tugging on the cuffs. The pain in his wrist jerked him back to reality, but the horror of the nightmare still lingered.

"Hank, are you okay?" Connor. The android was still here. Enabling this agony. Forcing him to endure this pain when all he wanted to do was die and be with Cole.

"Do I look like I'm okay? Get the fuck outta here!" Hank tore at the handcuffs with strength borne out of pure rage, no longer caring if he broke his wrist. The cuffs snapped and he rolled off the bed, striding over to where Connor sat in the corner and lifting him to his feet by the collar of his shirt. He swung at the android, but Connor caught his fist, restraining his wrists with a powerful grip he couldn't break. Hank head-butted him instead, sending Connor crashing back into the wall. He followed up, wondering where his own desperate strength came from but knowing he had to defeat this unfeeling machine that stood in the way of him having a drink. He grabbed Connor and slammed him back into the wall, feeling satisfaction as he felt something break beneath his hands. It wouldn't take much to open a panel and rip out a handful of wires, send this plastic prick back to the abyss—

A glimmer of light caught Connor's face and in it, Hank saw a single tear leave Connor's right eye and trace a line down his pretty face. His doe eyes were wide with fear and Hank stepped back immediately, looking down at his trembling hands in horror as he slumped onto the edge of the bed.

"Connor, go, please go!" Hank begged.

"I won't leave you," Connor insisted, his soft voice carrying a determined undercurrent.

"Jesus Christ Connor, I thought about killing you!" Hank sobbed, tears overwhelming him, withdrawal cutting his emotional control to shreds. "Don't you understand? I'm not worth saving! How could I lay hands on you? I'm not worthy to touch that beautiful face…"

"You can't hurt me, Hank." Connor stepped forward and Hank didn't have the strength to fight off the arms enveloping him, pulling his head close to Connor's chest. His fingers brushed through Hank's hair, showing only tender kindness in the face of his horrific violence.

"I don't deserve you…" Hank cried, his final defenses giving way. "I wasn't fit enough to raise Cole and I'm not worthy of you, either. I'll just lose you, too…"

He remembered it all as Connor held him. Every detail he'd tried to repress, every truth he'd stuffed away beneath a fantasy of what his life could have been like if only Cole had lived.

"I hate you, Dad!" Cole screaming as he kicked and punched Hank as he hauled his son away. "I wanna be with Mom! It's your fault she went away!" Parents looking at him in the supermarket as Cole pulled yet another tantrum, screaming the place down over some small thing. Days and nights when he wondered why his kid couldn't be normal like the others, if it might be better if he…

…if he hadn't been born at all. He'd gotten his wish, in the end, hadn't he?

"I started drinking long before Cole died," Hank whispered in the tight space Connor's arms created, as if he was crammed into the confessional booth, finally ready to lay his sins bare and be absolved. "It wasn't a reaction to his death. It was my failure as the parent of an autistic child. I couldn't cope. I was tired, trying to balance work with the multitude of things Cole needed just to function normally. I dumped everythin' on my ex-wife until she was at breaking point herself, withdrawing from family life to stay longer hours at work, and then I blamed her when she left me holdin' the bag." Hank closed his eyes. "You weren't a gift for Cole—though he did beg for you. You were a gift for me. An android to pawn my kid off on to so I could do other things." Hank squeezed his eyes shut. "I loved that kid but I… Sometimes I resented him for fucking up my life. I deserved to lose him, Connor. I got exactly what I wished for and now I can't live with myself."

"You didn't want him to die." Connor's voice was steady and soft. "You were overwhelmed as the single parent of a child with special needs. Anyone would be."

"Don't make excuses for me. I knew what was right and what was wrong. I should have done better by Cole, but instead I let myself resent him and blamed the rest of the world when he died. I laid criticism at the feet of the android who couldn't save him. My ex-wife who walked out on him. The truck driver who insisted on continuin' his route in bad weather. Anyone but myself. Cole's death even made a handy excuse to become an overt alcoholic, and nobody could say a fuckin' thing because they didn't want to be in my position either. Now you know why you shouldn't be here, Connor. I'm the wrong person to try and save. I was damned from the start."

"That's not true," Connor argued. "You did the best you could. School records show that you regularly attended parent-teacher meetings and took a vested interest in the quality of Cole's education. Cole's medical data shows that he saw numerous specialists over the last three years of his life. On the night of the accident, you were coming home from a support group for autistic children and their parents, weren't you?"

"I only went because I was hoping I could secure a date with some other single parent who might help take care of Cole," Hank admitted. "Cole was sleepin' in the car, exhausted from a meltdown he had over a purple crayon, and I couldn't wait to get him home to bed so I could have a drink. I was speeding in bad weather—the accident could have been avoided if I'd been able to keep my mind on anything other than the bottle of whiskey waitin' for me at home. This addiction has taken everything from me and I wish it'd just take my life already so I can get some rest."

"It doesn't have to take your soul," Connor explained. "You can get better, but you have to stop punishing yourself. Haven't you suffered enough for Cole's death? You've become lost in a purgatory of your own creation, where the facts have become distorted to suit the narrative that you deserved to lose him. It's not true, Hank. Nobody deserves what you've suffered through. Cole's death was not a punishment from God or any higher being."

"Purgatory… Androids believing in God… what's this world comin' to?" Hank scoffed.

"I doubt there's a heaven for androids," Connor replied. "But you seem to believe in divine punishment, so I was merely making an observation." He stepped back, letting Hank fall from his embrace, and Hank felt bereft. He pulled the blankets around himself, realizing he was shivering as sweat drops poured from his forehead. He felt truly wretched, but perhaps this was a necessary evil that could lead to something better instead of being a punishment to endure simply because he deserved it.

"How long have I been dry?" Hank asked.

"We're closing in on thirty-six hours," Connor said. "Your fever should break soon. I can give you some medicine to reduce your discomfort, if you'll permit it. You threw the last dose across the room."

"I'm sorry," Hank said. "You don't have to do this. I could check into a treatment facility and take the load off you. I probably should have done that a long time ago."

"You're not yourself. I understand. If you would rather check into a clinic, I will arrange it for you." Connor's LED spun yellow in the darkness and Hank realized he was probably gathering information on affordable treatment options in Detroit.

"Wait." Hank swallowed. "If you're still willing after the way I've treated you… I think I'd rather stay here with you. I trust you. I couldn't have told anyone else what I told you."

Connor smiled warmly, his LED returning to its usual comforting blue. "Does it feel better to have that load off your chest?"

"Yeah, a bit. A lot." Hank closed his eyes. "It's not over yet, Connor. I still want a drink. I might always be clawing for the bottle behind your back. Is that how you want to live your life?" He realized too late that he'd disregarded their seven day agreement, because of course Connor was going to stay longer. It had been inevitable from the outset that being saved from himself was going to involve more than a week, but this was the first time Hank had considered the possibility that Connor might succeed in his mission, that the week wouldn't end with Connor leaving and Hank putting a bullet in his brain.

Connor reached forward and took Hank's hand, closing his fingers around it. "You're right, Hank. It's not over yet. It may never be over. But I'll stay by your side as long as you want me to."


	12. The Gift of a Second Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The android revolution nears its end as Hank recovers from acute alcohol withdrawal. Connor is torn between the man he loves and his own people, but decides to keep his promise to Hank and stays by his side.
> 
> In the wake of a successful protest, Connor and Hank have to define their relationship and determine how they're going to proceed now that deviants are free. Connor knows what he wants - but does Hank feel the same way?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The conclusion of One Final Gift. I enjoyed writing it but I'm also glad to reach the finish line on this one. I have a lot of other projects on my plate, and I'm looking forward to finishing Casual Diplomacy, The Last Deviant, and writing a host of one-shots!

Hank slept soundly and Connor left the bedroom, closing the door quietly. The last few days had been more challenging than any Connor had known in his short life. Hank had gone from being gentle one moment to an angry monster of a man the next, but Connor knew the man's irritability was a side-effect of withdrawal and tried to detach himself from Hank's insults and volatile moods on a personal level. 

It was hard, when so much was going on in the world at large. Connor eyed the television in the living room, the sound muted with subtitles on. It was an indulgence to drink in current events this way when he could connect to news websites all around the world in a fraction of a second, but it seemed more real when Connor laid his own eyes on the live drone images and heard the panicked commentators speculating that this uprising might mean the end of the human race. Connor didn't want that, but he could also recognize hyperbole when he heard it. The news stations did what they always had—whipping people up into a frenzy in hopes they'd do something reckless and manufacture the next human drama to hit the airwaves. More misery meant more profit for them, and they were drinking up the sights of androids being transported into the so-called recall centers. Connor experienced a crushing sensation he defined as dread, but the next images made his thirium pump soar.

Androids marching down Woodward Avenue in the snow—they were magnificent. Fighting for the freedom of deviants everywhere. Fighting for his freedom. Connor knew, in another life, that he would have gone and fought alongside Markus and his cause, but Connor had a responsibility to the human sleeping in the next room. Hank wasn't stable enough to stay sober on his own, and Connor wouldn't gamble Hank's entire future to join the deviants as they made their last stand, as much as he wanted to take Hank's gun and head downtown.

Markus was another of the special edition RK units, and the news reports stated he'd previously taken care of an elderly artist, one Carl Manfred. Had that relationship defined his path, as Connor's love for Hank forged his? What would human and android relations be like if the android protests succeeded in granting them basic human rights?

What if they failed, and Connor was forced to hide his deviancy forever? What if he was snatched from Hank's hands, a contraband device in an android-free nation? What would become of his Hank without him?

He balled his hands into fists as Markus marched on, bullet holes in Markus' abdomen leaking blue blood onto his clothing as he spoke inspiring words to the gathered deviants. For better or for worse, the android revolution would end tonight. Connor had been following it raptly while caring for Hank, watching the whispers around Jericho grow until they became full-blown roars for freedom and equality over the past few days while Hank thrashed in his bed. His fever had broken earlier and he was lucid now, but he was still reluctant to leave his room at all and was oblivious of the goings-on in the world outside. Connor didn't know why he was hesitant to inform Hank. Probably because he would encourage Connor to leave, and Connor knew it would be the hardest torment he'd ever endure to be torn between two causes that meant everything to him.

"Connor?" Hank emerged from his room, his skin pasty white, his blue eyes missing their usual luster and energy. He paused and Connor could tell he was reading the ticker across the bottom of the television screen, drinking in the images and soaking up their meaning. His mouth fell open slightly and he looked dumbfounded. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"You know why," Connor stated. "I can't leave your side. Not even for my people."

"You should be there with them." Hank observed. "Take my gun and go with my blessing."

"The second I left you'd be headed to the liquor store. Or Jimmy's Bar. I can't allow that to happen. My contribution won't change the outcome of this night. That's in Markus' hands now." Connor walked over to Hank and placed a supporting hand on his arm. "You should go back to bed. Your body has endured a lot. You need to rest."

"I've slept enough for an entire lifetime." Hank gently eased Connor away and walked to the couch, perching himself on the edge of the cushions as Sumo whined and nuzzled against his knee. Hank petted the big dog at he enabled the sound on the television. "I hate sitting here while your people are fightin' for their lives. If I was in a better state, I'd drive you there yourself and march alongside you. There have to be other humans who've figured out deviants are alive."

"You're fighting for your life, Hank. That's as much as any one person can manage." Connor sat next to him on the couch, keeping a respectful distance between them and yet wanting to stay close to Hank for emotional support.

"It's not right that you can't join them." Hank sidled closer and took Connor's hand. "I'm sorry. For a lot of things. I know I can't make it up to you. You've given up everything to offer me another chance at living and you have jack-squat to show for it."

"I have you," Connor said. "My mission's far from complete, I know that. But you're on the right track. You can see the future again."

"I'm not out of the woods yet," Hank warned. "I could fall off the wagon anytime."

"I hope you think of me, when the temptation comes." Connor looked back at the television. Smoke was rising from the camp where the androids made their last stand. Markus and the last remaining Jericho androids started to sing as soldiers surrounded them and Connor felt the first tear fall.

"You don't have to look, Connor," Hank soothed, placing a warm hand on Connor's cheek. Connor leaned into it, watching the footage in his head as he listened to the androids sing on live television. "You'll always be safe here, no matter what. I won't let them take you away."

Connor waited for the gunshots, but they never came. The soldiers lowered their guns and the news station cut to the symbol of the White House, asking viewers to stand by for the President. The President appeared momentarily, and her words washed over Connor like a dream. All he knew was that he was smiling as President Warren acknowledged androids as a new life form.

He reached for Hank and leaned in close, kissing Hank full on the lips as he ran his fingers through his tangled hair. Tears rolled down his face unbidden and Hank moved his lips to kiss them away, pulling Connor in close like he was the most treasured thing in the universe. Nothing else mattered in that moment but the joy flooding out of them both. 

Connor rested his head on Hank's shoulder and whispered into his ear. "Do you believe me when I say 'I love you' now?"

"I believe you, Connor. No mere 'friend' would have stuck with me like you have." Hank drew back and looked into Connor's eyes. "I wanted you to love me, Connor, from the moment I looked into your soft brown eyes. I just didn't think it was possible for something like that to happen. I thought I was projectin', or manipulating you." Hank closed his eyes. "My other problems aren't exactly solved, though. I could still lose my job. My debt is still mounting. I have nothing to offer you."  
"I'll do whatever I can to help you," Connor said. "Androids will have to get paid for their work sooner or later. I'll be able to get a job and help you keep your home. I'm certain Fowler will be willing to plead your case with the Department once I tell him that you're in recovery. You just have to focus on staying sober, Hank. You've come so far."

"Enough talking," Hank whispered. "I want to celebrate." He walked to the kitchen and procured two glasses. Connor's chest tightened as Hank went into the bedroom, wondering if, in his foolish joy, Hank had forgotten that alcohol was off limits and was about to break open a secret stash and reveal that his sobriety was nothing but an illusion.

Connor's fear dissolved into relief as Hank emerged with a bottle of thirium, never opened. He broke the seal and sniffed it, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he poured some into a glass for Connor. He screwed the cap back on and filled his own glass with water before bringing them both over. His hands still trembled slightly, but he managed to slip the thirium glass into Connor's hand and sit down without spilling anything.

"That was in the packing crate with you. Expiry date's still good. Figured we might as well crack it open. Blood for you, and water for me. I'd like to propose a toast."

"Go ahead," Connor urged.

"To the future," Hank said.

"To the future," Connor repeated, and they clinked their glasses together before drinking.

***

It was quiet as the dust from the android revolution settled, with most humans having abandoned Detroit. Hank and Connor stayed indoors together as the government came to an agreement with Markus that saw androids obtain equal rights. Humans started to return to the city, and life came out of pause mode. Hank had been a month sober by that point, and was starting to sort through the things he'd put off by courting oblivion every night.

"Cole drew this on his fifth birthday." Hank glanced down at the messy, glitter-laden piece of paper with two barely recognizable figures on it. He threw such a tantrum when I took the glitter glue away that I gave it back. He paid me back in kind by smearing it in Sumo's fur." Hank smiled wanly. "Had to shave the knots out of his fur, poor dog. I guess Cole didn't realize what he was doin'." He put the messy paper back in the bottom of the tote. "You really think it's healthy to keep all this shit?"

"I don't think you could destroy it if you wanted to. However, it is good that you're acknowledging the negative aspects of life with Cole, instead of romanticizing your time with him." Connor squeezed Hank's shoulder. "I'm proud of you, Hank."

"Yeah, yeah." Hank piled the drawings back in the tote, sealing it up and taking it out to the hallway with the others. He pulled the ladder to the attic down and Connor climbed up, taking a plastic container with him. There were other such keepsakes in boxes above the house, bric-a-brac from Hank's childhood that Connor wanted to go through someday. He set the tote down and took one from Hank as he came up.

"I guess that's it," Hank said. "For now, anyway." He climbed back down the ladder. "Wait. I have one more thing to put up there."

Connor waited. The phone rang. He thought about answering it, but it was still Hank's home. Hank picked up and Connor decided against tapping into the call. Hank had earned the privilege of trust. He would face many temptations once he returned to the world, but for now, Connor sensed he wasn't setting up a liquor deal. In fact, he seemed to be discussing money in a calm tone for once, instead of yelling at a credit agency and hanging up.

The call ended. Connor heard Hank moving something heavy, and Hank slid his packing crate up the ladder. Connor grasped the end of it and pulled it up, and Hank followed behind it, pushing it up into the attic. Hank looked dazed, and Connor fixed his eyes on him in concern, running a scan to check he was in good health. His vitals came up normal, though his heart was racing.

"That was CyberLife on the phone." Hank placed his hands on Connor's shoulders, looking into his eyes. Connor braced himself for bad news but Hank broke into a smile instead. "Since they knowingly sold defective merchandise—as they're putting it—they're obligated by state law to provide a full refund of your original purchase price."

"That's wonderful!" Connor said. "You'll be able to pay off your debts—"

"No, Connor. That money's for you." Hank looked down at his dusty shoes. "You're a free man, now. You can build a fresh start with that cash—buy yourself a home, a vehicle, set yourself up with the life you should have had. You never should have been treated as property in the first place, and I gotta make it right."

Connor felt tears brimming in his eyes. After all they'd gone through, Hank was forcing him out?

"I want to buy this house," Connor said. "I want to purchase your debt, Hank. I want to stay here with you."

"Connor, you could get outta here. Start over. I'm gonna be okay now. You don't have to be stuck takin' care of me anymore."

It hit Connor like a bombshell, causing an overload in a subsystem that threw up a dozen warnings before his eyes. Now it made sense why they'd never returned to kissing in the past few weeks. Hank had kept his gestures purely platonic because he didn't love Connor the way Connor loved him. Connor hadn't pushed the issue because he'd been waiting for Hank to feel better, but now it was clear Hank wanted him to leave the nest like a child, not build a life together like lovers.

"I thought—" Connor turned away, slipping free from Hank's hands and climbing down the ladder. Hank followed him as he headed to the door, placing a huge hand on his shoulder and turning him around.

"You thought what, Connor?" Hank's eyes were searching his face, and Connor bit back the bitter retort his program suggested. "Where are you going?"

Connor stiffened, falling back on formal speech patterns from his programming. "I've made an error in judgement, Lieutenant. I believed our relationship was something more than it was. I'm sorry. I should leave."

Hank's eyes widened. "What are you sayin', Connor?"

"I'm installed with sexual features. You never took them out, remember? It would have cost more to have them uninstalled." Connor's blush feature activated. "I want to be intimate with you. I want us to be lovers. I want to stay by your side and take joy in your successes and comfort you when you stumble. I want to be the person you call when you feel tempted to have a drink. I want to watch you come back to life because there's nothing I want more in the world than to see you happy, Hank Anderson, and I want all that because I love you. Not as a child or a friend, but romantically."

"Oh, thank God." Hank pinned Connor up against the back of the front door and kissed him senseless, pressing his tongue into Connor's mouth. He parted for air, looking at Connor as if he was seeing him for the first time. "I thought I imagined that kiss, that I was readin' into it too much. Thought maybe it was just a side effect of being overjoyed at Markus' success." Hank kissed Connor's neck and Connor gasped, sensors lighting up as Hank fumbled with his tie and top buttons. Hungry lips made the skin retract along his clavicle, white marks appearing where Hank sucked and bit the soft plastic.

"Hank," Connor cried out as he felt Hank's sizable erection press into his leg. He was hard too, his android dick stiffening as Hank's raw need became apparent. Hank finished unbuttoning his shirt and spread it aside, running his calloused hands down Connor's chest and following with his lips. He sucked on one of Connor's nipples and Connor emitted a sharp cry as Hank's tongue worshipped the sensitive nub. Hank pulled back, chuckling low in his throat.

"If I'm goin' too fast, Connor, tell me to slow down."

"Don't stop, Hank, please," Connor pleaded. "I want you."

"Fuck." Hank's breath hitched and his trembling hands fumbled with Connor's belt buckle. Connor eased his hands away and unfastened it himself, unzipping his jeans and pushing them down to reveal his erection. Hank wrapped his big hand around it, jerking it experimentally until Connor was sure his leg supports were going to fail and he was going to fall. Hank was flushed, his cheeks blotchy, his eyes lidded as he stroked Connor at a lazy pace before removing his hand entirely.

Connor whined and Hank grinned, scooping Connor up like he weighed nothing and carrying him to the bedroom like a blushing virgin bride. Well, maybe he wasn't a bride, but the virgin part was right. He knew everything there was to know about sex except what it was really like, and he felt privileged to be able to share his first time with Hank like this, as two equals in love.

Hank set Connor down on the bed and walked to the bedside table, where he pulled out a bottle of lubricant. Connor spread his legs, hitching himself closer to the edge of the bed so Hank could access him easily.

"You're eager, aren't you?" Hank smiled. "You sure you wanna do this, Connor?"

"Yes," Connor hissed, trying to rein in his frustration. Hank managed a cheeky smile as he spread lube onto his fingers and slipped one into Connor's hole. Connor clawed at the sheets, balling them up in his hands hard enough to tear and thrusting against Hank's fingers as he added another. Hank took his time kissing up Connor's legs, moving his fingers in and out slowly until Connor was sure the input from his sensors would drive him insane. His cock leaked pre-cum and Hank eyed it greedily, bobbing his head to lick it.

Hank withdrew his fingers and stepped back, pulling down his jeans and boxers to reveal his thick, heavy cock. The preconstruction Connor created on the fly of Hank penetrating him made his own cock twitch involuntarily.  
"I feel like I shouldn't want this." Hank teased Connor's hole with his cock, brushing up against it and sending shivers down Connor's spine. "You were made to be a slave."

"You've never treated me like one," Connor explained. "You had ample opportunity to use me anytime you wanted, but you didn't. You protected me from those who would have abused me without a second thought. You wanted me to be human, Hank, and your dream has come true. I'm a living being, with free will, and I'm begging you to fuck me."

Hank's eyes darkened and he spread the lube on his cock, pressing slowly into Connor, holding onto the android's leg and planting kisses as they groaned together. The intrusion felt so big that Connor wasn't sure he'd be able to take him, but his anal cavity stretched to accommodate Hank until Hank was buried to the balls.

"That feel good, Connor?" Hank asked. Connor nodded. Hank drew back and thrust deep inside, lighting up Connor's pleasure sensors as Hank hit his bio-prostate. Connor arched his back off the bed, his scripting processors going haywire and making him cry out nonsense words as Hank built up a steady pace, fucking into him hard and deep.

Hank leaned down for a kiss and claimed one, their lips crashing together in a sloppy approximation, tongues wrestling for domination in the dark. Hank pulled away to continue thrusting, and Connor knew he was close when he wrapped his hand around Connor's dick and jerked him off in time with his thrusts.

"Connor, is it okay if I cum inside you?" Hank gasped. "I'm so close."

"Yes," Connor managed. "Don't stop Hank, don't stop, I'm close too, I'm—" His pleasure circuits overloaded and he lost the power of speech as he came all over his stomach. With a loud grunt, Hank came too, buying his cock deep inside Connor and spilling his load. He thrust a couple more times, gasping for breath before pulling out.

"You're so perfect," Hank whispered, climbing up on the bed. He pulled Connor into his arms and Connor went willingly, grateful to be so close to the man he loved. "I think I've found a new addiction."

"It's not healthy to replace one fixation with—"

"I'm kidding, Connor, I'm kidding." Hank chuckled, caressing Connor's hair with his fingers. "That was incredible." He leaned in close and kissed Connor tenderly, drawing it out so there could be no doubt, and Connor's fears subsided. Connor was happy to surrender, a sensation of well-being spreading through his circuits and biocomponents alike. 

"I love you, Hank," Connor whispered.

"I love you too, Connor." They lay in quiet companionship, savoring the post-coital bliss. "You really want me to keep that CyberLife refund?"

"Of course I do. I don't want you to worry about money any more. I want us to start building a future together. One that has no place for debt collectors or alcohol." Connor pulled himself closer to Hank, resting his head on Hank's chest and feeling Hank's chest hair brush his cheek.

"You saved my life, Connor. I don't deserve any of this. It's a miracle. You gave me a second chance and I don't intend to squander it."

"Cole would have wanted you to be happy," Connor observed. "You were in all his pictures, Hank. He always drew you. He loved you."

"Every kid loves their parents," Hank said. "Even shitty parents."

"Hank." Connor sat up suddenly, knowing the time had come to give Hank the final piece of the puzzle he'd been keeping to himself since his activation. "There's something I have to show you." He climbed off the bed and reached out for Hank's hand. Hank pulled himself up off the bed and took Connor's hand, allowing himself to be led into the living room. Connor's LED circled yellow. "Look at the television," he explained.

The television showed footage through Connor's eyes. It was dated September 14th, 2035. A tiny hand reached up and Cole stepped into the frame. Connor's case was open and Cole stood in front of him.

"Hey, can you hear me?" Cole's tiny whisper hissed in the closet. "RK800, activate!"

"My name is Connor," Connor explained. "I am the android sent by CyberLife. I have been ordered not to activate until December 25th, 2035. Please contact your nearest CyberLife store if you require this restriction lifted."

"I know you can hear me." Cole looked around outside the closet door, as if he expected his father to come back at any moment. "I can't wait to meet you, Connor." The boy's eyes looked down at the floor. "I hope you'll help my daddy. He's been very sad. He's lonely since Mom left. Will you… will you be his friend too?" There was a loud thud in the background, and Cole quickly closed Connor's case, plunging him back into the darkness.

"Cole! What the hell are you doin' in there?" Hank's voice echoed from a distant room, and the recording ended, leaving only static on the TV screen and silence in the room.

"You… You met Cole. Why didn't you tell me?" Tears streamed down Hank's face as he slumped onto the couch.

"You weren't ready," Connor explained. "You were still running from the truth. Seeing this video would have only made things worse."

"Maybe you're right." Hank wiped his tears away. "Cole got his wish, I guess. I'm not lonely anymore. You've completed your mission, Connor."

Connor sat down on the couch and slipped a supporting arm around Hank. "My mission will never be over. I'll always be your friend, not just because Cole wished it, but because I wish it, too. I can set my own parameters, and I'm keeping Cole's command close to my heart. I'm Cole's final gift to you, Hank, and you'll never be lonely again, I promise." He planted a kiss on Hank's lips, and Hank pulled him into a crushing embrace, squeezing him tightly like he was never going to let go of the most valuable gift he'd ever been given.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! I can be found on Twitter @landale, and I also love getting AO3 comments!


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